UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

AT  LOS  ANGELES 


pNIVERSITY  of  CALlFOK«i«k 

AT 

LUS  ANGELES 

UBBJiRY 


SCHOOL  AND  COLLEGE 
SPEAKER 


EDITED   BY 


WILMOT    BROOKINGS    MITCHELL 

Pyv/essor  of  Rhetoric  and  Oratory 
Bowdoin  College 


NEW   YORK 

HENRY   HOLT   AND  COMPANY 


143297 


Copyright,  1901, 

BY 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO. 

Marcli.  ig3j 


PRlXTi:i:»  IN  THE  U.  S.  A. 


PREFACE 

This  book  is  designed  for  the  use  of  classes  in  Public 
Speaking  in  colleges  and  secondary  schools.  It  seeks  to 
give  instruction  in  the  essentials  of  Elocution,  and  to  furnish 
declamations  adapted  to  school  and  college  boys  and  girls. 
In  compiling  these  declamations  I  have  sought  those  which 
furnish  exercise  in  the  various  elements  of  expression  and  at 
tlie  same  time  appeal  to  students, — those  which  present  a 
vivid  picture,  tell  an  interesting  tale,  deal  with  a  concrete 
situation,  or  advocate  principles  and  policies  fervently  and 
eloquently. 

Many  of  these  selections  are  new;  they  deal  with  live  sub- 
jects; a  large  number  of  them  have  never  before  been  printed 
as  declamations.  Nearly  all  of  them,  however,  have  been 
tested  in  prize-speaking  contests  and  classroom  work  in 
Bowdoin  College. 

To  encourage  the  wide  reading  that  is  essential  to  intelli- 
gent and  appreciative  speaking,  I  have  given  in  nearly  all 
cases  definite  references  to  the  whole  speech,  oration,  poem, 
or  story  from  which  the  selection  is  taken. 

I  wish  to  acknowledge  my  indebtedness  to  many  of  the 
authors  of  these  declamations  for  valuable  suggestions,  and 
to  the  publishers  mentioned  in  the  prefatory  notes  for 
generous  permission  to  use  copyrighted  selections. 

W.  B.  M. 
BowDoiN  College, 
Brunswick,  Me. 

iii 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PACK 

Preface iii 

Breathing ix 

Exercises  in  Breathing xiii 

Pronunciation xvii 

Elements  of  Expression xxxiv 

Quality xxxiv 

Force xlvi 

Pitch li 

Time Ixiv 

Emphasis Ixxii 

Gesture Ixxxi 

Preparation  for  Readii;g  and  Speaking xcv 

Proper  Names  P"ound  in  the  Selections  and  Words  Often 

Mispronounced 345 

Index  of  Authors 353 

Index  of  Titles 355 

SELECTIONS   FOR   SPEAKING 

Ray's  Ride Charles  King I 

New  England  Civilization William  Pierce  Frye 5 

The  Death  of  Charles  the  NiNTH.Maude  Moore 7 

The     Traditions     of     Massachu- 
setts   Henry  Cabot  Lodge 11 

Great  Britain  and  America Edwin  Oliver  Wolcott 15 

Mr.  Travers's  First  Hunt Richard  Harding  Davis 17 

Our  Duty  to  the  Philippines William  McKinley 20 

The  Storming  of  Mission  Ridge.  .Benjamin  Franklin  Taylor. . .  23 

The  Bible Newell  Dwight  Hillis 26 

A  Plea  for  Cuba John  Mellen  Thurston 28 

The  Heart  of  Old  Hickory Will  Allen  Dromgoole  31 

The  Fight  Off  Santiago Henry  Cabot  Lodge 36 

The  Lark Charles  Reade 38 

Maine  at  Gettysburg Joshua  Lawrence  Chamberlain  39 

Banty  Tim .John  Hay 43 


VI  TAtiir.    Oh    COS'll-.NTS 

)'Ar.B 

A«;  viNsr  l'.xr.\NsliiN Hinry  I'.  Johnson 45 

TliK  IUiai-Kack KolH.'rt  (Irant 48 

■  What  tiik  1i.ai;  Mkans llt-nry  CaUtt  l^nl^c 51 

AuAiNsr  uiK  Si'uii^  Svsii-.M IKnry  van  Dyke 53 

Nkw  Amkricamsm Ikiiry  Waltcrson 55 

The  Man  Wrniorr  a  Ciiintry.  . .  .IMwanl  Kvcrt-tt  Mali- 57 

OXKORD  t'oiN  lY John  I  )avis  Long 5<) 

From    "  KVANGKl.lNK  " llriiry  Waclsworth  I^oiiglrllow  Uz 

TiiK  MoNROK  Doi  TKi.NK Joliii  Mcllcn  Tluirston 06 

TiiK  Dkaih  rKNAi.iY \ictor  Marie  IIujjo 60 

Amkkuan  UAiTi.K-Ki.Aiis Carl  Scliiir/ 71 

Tiik  1>i.i.i.-Rin<;kr  of  '70 Anonymous 75 

'I'liK  Tkumpii  ok  Pf.ACK Kdwin  llulilull  Cli;ipin 75 

CIreF-K  Kkvohtion Henry  Clay 78 

The  I'ath  of  Dity George  I-'risbic  Hour 80 

The  Maiden  Martyr Anonymous S3 

The  State  <>f  Maini, William  Pierce  Fryc 80 

Daniel  Wekstfk George  Frisbic  Iloar 88 

The  War  with  Amfrua Lord  Chatham Oi 

I>RlER-RosE Hjalmar  Iljorth  Royesen 92 

Let  Us  Haye  Teack Henry  Waiicrson 96 

The  Mission  of  the  Public  School.  William  Dc  Witt  Hyde 98 

The  Secret  of  Lincoln's  Power .  .Henry  WatterMjii loi 

The  Fool's  Prayer l".<hvard  Rowland  Sill 103 

The  Man  Who  Wears  the  Bit- 
ton  John  Mellen  Thurston 105 

Liberty  and  Union Daniel  Webster 106 

The  Soldier  of  the  Emtike Thomas  Nelson  Page 108 

Olr  National  Flag Henry  Ward  Reedier 112 

Our  Pledge  to  Puerto  Rico Charles  E.  Littlefield 114 

Horace  Greeley Henry  Ward  Reecher 1 16 

Incident  of  the  French  Camt.  . . .  Robert  Browning 118 

Supposed  Speech  of  Ja.mes  Otis  . . .  Lydia  Maria  Child 120 

The   Solution   ok  the   Southern 

Problem Booker  Taliaferro  Washington  122 

The  Significance  ok  the  Spanish 

War John  Davis  Long 124 

Knee-Deep  in  June '. .  .James  Whitcomb  Riley 127 

Lincoln  :  A  Man  Called  uk  God.  .John  Mellen  Thurston 130 

The  True  War  Spirit George  Frisbie  Hoar 133 

Charles  Sumner George  William  Curtis 136 

The  Vagabonds John  Townsend  Trowbridge. .  138 

The  Death  ok  Gakkikld James  Gillespie  Blaine 142 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS  vii 

Cuba William  Pierce  Frye 145 

Piety  and  Civic  Virtue., Charles  Henry  Parkhurst. . .  .  146 

On  the  Other  Train Anonymous 149 

Opportunity  to  Labor, Thomas  Brackett  Reed 152 

The  Benediction .  Francois  Coppfec 153 

Spartacus  to  the  Roman  Envoys. Epes  Sargent 156 

Ar.AiNST  THE  Fugitive-Slave  LAW.Theodore  Parker 158 

A  Message  from  the  South Booker  Taliaferro  Washington  160 

The  Revolutionary  Rising Thomas  Buchanan  Read 163 

Columbian  Oration Chauncey  Mitchell  Depew ....  166 

ISIassachusetts Henry  Cabot  Lodge 170 

The  Death  Bridge  of  the  Tay.  .  .Will  Carleton 172 

Agencies  in  Our  National  Prog- 
ress  Alexander  Kelly  McClure 177 

The  Power  of  Habit John  Bartholomew  Cough ....  179 

O  Captain  !  my  Captain  ! Walt  Whitman 181 

The  Rider  of  the  Black  Horse  .George  Lippard 182 

Against  Imperialism George  Frisbie  Hoar 185 

Our  Rich  Heritage John  Mellen  Thurston 187 

Herve  Riel Robert  Browning 189 

To  THE  Grand  Army  of  the  Re- 
public   Thtmnas  Brackett  Reed 194 

Dedication  of  Gettysburcj  Ceme- 

TERY Abraham  Lincoln 196 

True  Americanism. Henry  Cabot  Lodge 197 

The  Pilot's  Story William  Dean  Howells 199 

An  Appeal  to  the  People John  Bright 201^ 

A  Tribute  to  Gen.  Sherman Horace  Porter 20'') 

Mother  and  Poet Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  .  .  208 

Forefathers'  Day John  Davis  Long 211 

Dangerous  Legislation James  McDowell 214 

The  Puritan  Sabbath     Henry  van  Dyke 217 

The  Assault  on  Fort  Wagner.  .  ..Anna  Elizabeth  Dickinson.. .  .  220 
A  Tribute  to  the   Men   of  the 

Maine Robert  G.  Cousins 223 

The  Soldier's  Faith Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 225 

The  Death  of  Rodriguez Richard  Harding  Davis 228 

The  Commonwealth  of  Massachu- 
setts  William  Eu-ti=  Russell 232 

The  Traveler's  Story James  Whitcoud)  Riley 234 

The  True  Power  of  a  Nation.  . .  .Edwin  Hubbell  Chapin 230 

Reverence  for  the  Flag Horace  Porter 241 

The  Kelikk  (IF  LucKNOW Robert  Traill  Spcncc  Lowell  .  243 


vm  T.ARir.    or  CONTENTS 

fAOK 

TlIK  Hl.l  K  .\M>  TIIK  tlKAV Hiiirv  Calx>t  l^xlgo 246 

Thk  Soi'THKRN  Nki;ro 1  Iciiry  WiKnifon  Gmdy 248 

TiiK  Chariot  Race Lt-w  Wallace 251 

Kei'I.y  to  Mr.  Corry Henry  Graltaii 254 

One  NiciiK  tiik  Highest Klihu  Huiritt 256 

('•RANT William  McKinlcy 260 

I'nter  pen  LiNPEN Emma  Huntiiigton  Nason. . . .   262 

The  Schools  and  Colleges  ok  Our 

Coin  TRY Charles  William  Elint 263 

Against  Flogging  in  tiik  Navy.  . . Robert  Field  Stockton 265 

Claidils  and  Cynthia Maurice  Thompson 267 

On  Receiving   the    Master's    De- 
gree FROM  Hakvarh Booker  Taliaferro  Washington  271 

The  Soldier  Boy John  Uavis  Long 273 

The  Unknown  Si-eakek George  Lippard 275 

The  City  ok  New  York Frederic  Rene  Coudert 278 

The  First  Settler's  Story Will  Carleton 280 

The  Piritan  Spirit Richard  Salter  Storrs 286 

The  South  and  Her  Proklems   . .   Henry  Woodfen  Grady 289 

The  Victor  of  Marengo Anonymous 292 

The  Protection  of  Americans  in 

Armenia William  Pierce  Frye 294 

Not  Guilty Adapted 296 

Spartacus  to  the  Gladiators.  . .  .Elijah  Kellogg 299 

New  England  Character James  Gillespie  Blaine 302 

Meagher's  Defense Thomas  F'rancis  Meagher. . .  .  304 

A  Citizen's  Responsibility .William  McKinley 306 

Toussaint  L'Ouverture.    .   Wendell  Phillips 307 

Pheidippides Robert  Browning 309 

The  New  South Henry  Woodfen  Grady 313 

The  Rescue  of  Lygia Henry k  Sienkiewicz 316 

Jim  Bludso John  Hay 322 

America's  Mission Albert  Jeremiah  Beveridge.. . .   324 

The  Vision  of  War. Robert  Green  Ingersoll 326 

An  Incident  in  the  Life  of  Wen- 
dell Phillips Theodore  Weld 328 

The  Other  Fellow     William  Hawley  Smith  331 

To   Young   Men  of  New  York  in 

1861 Edward  Dickinson  Baker.  .  .  .   332 

At  the  Tomb  of  Napoleon  Robert  Green  Ingersoll 335 

For  Expansion Joseph  C.  Sibley 33O 

The  Plumed  Knight Robert  Green  Ingersoll 340 

The  Last  of  the  Roman  Trh;;  NF.s.rx)rd  Lytton 342 


INTRODUCTION 


BREATHING 

The  stuff  of  which  speech  is  made  is  breath.  The  prin- 
ciples of  right  breathing,  then,  no  public  speaker  can  afford 
to  disregard.  Ability  to  control  the  breath  means  energy  in 
the  place  of  weariness,  clear  speaking  in  the  place  of  stam- 
mering, and  vigorous  organs  of  speech  in  the  place  of 
inflamed  throat,  obstructed  nostrils,  and  congested  blood- 
vessels. 

Keep  the  viouth  shut  is  a  precaution  that  should  be  given 
first  of  all.  INIouth-breathing  is  dangerous.  It  causes  or 
hastens  diseases  of  the  ears,  throat,  nostrils,  and  lungs,  and 
thereby  injures  the  voice.  Right  breathing  causes  the 
nostrils  to  temper  the  air  and,  by  means  of  the  short,  stiff 
hairs  with  which  they  are  lined,  to  strain  from  it  the 
dust  and  other  impurities  which  hasten  disease;  it  also 
prevents  disease  by  keeping  the  nasal  passages  open,  for,  as 
Catlin  says,  "  the  nasal  ducts,  being  vacated,  like  vacated 
roads  that  grow  up  to  grass  and  weeds,  become  the  seat  of 
polypus  and  other  diseases."  *  Observation  will  show  that 
with  men,  as  with  horses,  "  wide,  dilated,  expanding  nostrils 
are  an  evidence  of  capability  for  physical  endurance.'" 

To  avoid  mouth-breathing,  the  causes  should  first  of  all 
be  sought.  It  is  often  the  result  of  enlarged  tonsils,  elon- 
gated uvula,  protruding  teeth,  partial  closure  of  the  nostrils 
by  injured  septum  and  diseased  membrane,  and  also  of  mere 

*  Clinton  Wagner:  "Habitual  Moutli-Breathing,"  p.  19.  Edgar  S. 
Werner,  New  York. 


^  INTRODUCTION 

halnt.  I'o  ascertain  (Ik-  cause  it  is  generally  necessary  to 
consult  a  physician.* 

/'///  ///«•  Itrurr  fhirl  of  Ihc  lungs  first.  Air  may  be  taken 
into  the  lunpfs  in  tliree  ways.  Kirst  by  collar-bone  breathing. 
^\'hen  this  tnetlioil  is  employed  the  abdomen  is  flattened,  the 
iliaphragm  is  expamleil  and  ])ushed  upward,  the  collar-bone 
and  slK)ulders  arc  raised,  and  only  the  upper  part  of  the 
lungs  is  filled  with  air.  This  nuthod  of  taking  breath  has 
almost  nothing  in  its  favor.  It  may  indeed  be  used  when 
feelings  of  fatigue  arc  to  be  expressed,  or  when  the  lower 
part  of  the  lungs  is  disabliHl ;  but  if  used  extensively,  it  is 
disastrous. 

In  the  first  ])lace  the  construction  of  the  upper  part  of  the 
thorax  makes  this  kind  of  breathing  wearisome.  The  upper 
ribs  being  short  and  attached  to  the  sternum  and  spine  are 
not  so  easily  moved  as  the  lower  or  floating  ribs.  Then, 
too,  in  order  to  expand  the  upper  part  of  the  chest  it  is 
necessary  to  lift  a  somcwliat  heavy  bony  structure,  including 
the  upper  ribs,   the    collar-bone,   and    the  shoulder-blades. 

*  Although  in  some  cases  tiie  dentist  and  surgeon  may  need  to  take 
radical  measures,  in  many  others  simple  remedies  will  afford  relief.  In 
case  of  wrong  habit  a  firm  determination  will  overcome  the  trouble. 
Washing  the  nostrils  with  a  weak  solution  of  borax  and  water  will  often 
aid  in  keeping  them  open.  The  following  is  a  simple  remedy  suggested 
by  Leo  Kofler  :  '•  Lie  flat  on  the  back  ;  put  some  carliolated  vaseline  on 
a  finger  of  the  right  hand,  if  the  right  nostril  is  blocked  ;  hold  one  finger 
of  the  left  hand  upon  the  left  nostril  so  that  no  air  can  pass  through  it. 
Put  the  vaseline  into  the  riglit  nostril  and  sniff"  it  up  powerfully.  Repeat 
this  and  apply  more  vaseline  till  you  succeed  in  getting  air  through  the 
nostril.  Then  reverse  the  process  to  open  the  other  nostril.  It  is  also 
helpful  to  rub  the  bridge  of  the  nose  and  its  immediate  surroundings 
with  vaseline."  '  Ti>e  lireathing  exercises,  especially  the  humming 
exercise  given  on  page  xi,  will  be  found  excellent  for  keeping  the  nostrils 
open.  For  the  pernicious  habit  of  keeping  the  mouth  open  while  sleep- 
ing, almost  *he  only  effective  remedy  is  forcible  closure  "by  means  of  a 
linen  or  leatlier  support  fur  the  luwer  jaw.  adjusted  to  the  top  of  the 
head."  • 

'  Leo  Kofler:  '  The  Art  of  I'reathing,"  p.  51.     Kdgar  .S.  Werner,  New  York. 
'Clinton  Wagner ;  "Habitual  Mouth-Breathing,"  p.  35.     Edgar  S.  Werner,   New 
York. 


liKi.rniiNG  XI 

I'urllieruiore,  to  use  only  tlir  uppt;r  aiul  .smaller  ])art  of  the 
conical  -  shaped  chest  necessitates  frequent  respiration. 
Hence  by  this  method  we  secure  the  smallest  supply  of 
breath  at  the  greatest  expense  of  strength. 

Collar-bone  breathing  also  necessitates  an  attempt  to  con- 
trol the  breath  in  the  throat,  which  was  never  intended  for 
this  purpose.  Such  imperfect  control  of  the  breathing 
organs,  since  it  sometimes  allows  the  breath  to  come  in 
spurts  or  more  air  to  escape  than  can  be  vocalized,  often 
n^.akcs  the  voice  trembling,  jerky,  or  wheezy.  It  also  causes 
a  constrained  position  of  the  vocal  organs  that  "  prevents 
due  play  of  the  muscles  of  the  vocal  bands,  alters  their 
physical  relation  to  the  impact  of  the  escaping  currents  of 
expired  air,  and  thus  enfeebles  the  natural  tone  of  the  voice, 
and  renders  it  less  sonorous  and  less  susceptible  of  modula- 
tions. In  consequence  of  this  the  sounds  are  proportion- 
ately weak,  shrill,  and  monotonous."  * 

Collar-bone  breathing  is  not  healthful.  "  It  forces  the 
upper  chest-walls  up  against  the  root  of  the  throat  and  has 
a  tendency  to  congest  the  blood-vessels  and  tissues  there. "  f 
It  thus  brings  on  "clergymen's  sore  throat"  and  kindred 
ailments. 

The  second  method  of  taking  breath  is  by  costal  or  rib 
breathing.  By  this  method  the  thorax  is  expanded  by 
extending  the  lower  or  floating  ribs  sideways.  This  has 
many  advantages  over  the  first  method.  By  causing  a  larger 
expansion  of  the  chest  it  gives  a  greater  supply  of  air,  a 
better  control  of  breath,  and  therefore  purer  and  more 
resonant  tones  than  the  collar-bone  breathing.  But  since  it 
is  not  the  best,  it  is  to  be  recommended  only  when  it  is 
combined  with  the  third  method,  diaphragmatic  or  ab- 
dominal breathing. 

*  Cohen  :  "The  Throat  and  the  Voice,"  p.  140.  P.  Blakiston,  Son 
&  Co.,  Philadelpliia. 

f  Smith :  -'Reading  and  .Speaking,"  p.  4.  D.  C.  Heath  &  Co., 
Boston. 


\n  iliaplinipm  breathing  tlic  liirgc  muscle,  the  tliajtliragnl, 
contracts,  i.e.,  flattens,  ami  jnislies  clown  the  viscera,  thus 
afforiling  a  larger  space  in  the  chest-box  for  the  lungs  to 
expand.  This  method  should  almost  always  be  combined 
with  ril)  breathing;  when  the  diaphragm  flattens,  the  float- 
ing and  lower  ribs  should  expand  sideways.  By  causing 
expansion  both  lateral  and  vertical  this  method  of  breathing 
jirovides  large  air-chambers  and  a  generous  supply  of  air. 
The  importance  of  a  large  chest-expansion  and  a  good  supply 
of  air  is  manifest  when  we  remember  that  the  chest  serves  a 
double  purpose — as  bellows  to  supply  the  air,  and  also  as  a 
resonance- chamber.  "  It  is  the  greatest  mistake  to  treat  the 
chest  as  merely  a  bellows.  The  purity,  as  well  as  depth, 
resonance,  and  volume  of  the  tone  depends  upon  the  skill 
which  the  vocal  chords  and  articulating  organs  play  upon 
this  quiet  air-chamber."*  But  for  the  chest  to  do  this 
double  duty  as  it  should,  there  is  necessary  a  complete  con- 
trol of  the  breath.  This  is  obtained  only  l)y  using  the 
diaphragm. 

In  speech  more  effort  is  required  to  hold  the  breath  back 
than  to  give  it  out.  Except  when  the  lungs  are  nearly 
emptied  or  when  we  are  shouting,  we  are  not  conscious  of 
any  effort  to  drive  the  air  out  of  the  lungs;  it  seems  to  rush 
forth  of  itself.  What  we  feel  the  need  of  is  power  to  hold 
the  breath,  to  be  economical  in  its  use,  and  not  to  allow 
more  to  escape  than  we  can  vocalize.  But  we  should  not, 
as  we  have  seen,  hold  the  breath  back  with  the  glottis  or 
any  part  of  the  throat.  Such  a  control  means  constricted 
muscles  and  throaty  tones.  The  muscles  of  the  throat 
should,  when  we  are  speaking,  be  entirely  relaxed.  This 
third  method  of  breathing  provides  for  just  this  perfect  open- 
ness of  the  throat.  The  breath  is  controlled  entirely  by  the 
lower  intercostal  muscles  and  the  diaphragm. 

♦Chamberlain  and  Clark  :  "Principles  of  Vocal  Expression,"  p.  172. 
Scott,  Foresman  &  Co.,  Chicago. 


BREATHING  xili 

EXERCISES    IN    BREATHING 
CAUTIONS 

1.  Always  in  summer,  and  often  in  the  colder  seasons, 
throw  open  the  windows  for  a  few  minutes  before  beginning 
the  exercises.  You  can  thus  be  assured  that,  at  each  deep 
breath,  you  are  drawing  in,  not  poisonous  gases,  but  health- 
giving  oxygen. 

2.  Do  not  at  first  overdo  the  exercises.  If  you  are  a 
person  with  weak  lungs  and  heart,  just  the  one  who  needs 
most  to  take  breathing  exercises,  you  should  obey  this  direc- 
tion implicitly.  Begin  by  practising  not  more  than  ten 
minutes  at  a  time,  possibly  not  more  than  five  minutes,  two 
or  three  times  a  day.  Then  increase  gradually  the  length  of 
the  time  occupied  and  the  number  of  times  the  exercise  is 
taken.  If,  at  first,  after  trying  some  of  the  exercises,  you 
are  dizzy,  do  not  be  frightened.  Simply  stop  for  a  time, 
walk  around,  slap  the  cheeks  if  you  wish,  and  the  dizziness 
will  soon  pass  away. 

3.  It  is  not  well  to  exercise  directly  after  eating. 

4.  Be  sure  that  the  muscles  about  the  throat  are  entirely 
relaxed.  The  breath  should  be  controlled,  I  cannot  repeat 
too  often,  by  the  diaphragm  and  abdominal  muscles.  There 
should  certainly  not  be  any  constrictions  at  the  waist.  The 
clothing  of  women  as  well  as  of  men  should  be  sufficiently 
loose  to  allow  the  muscles  of  the  chest  and  waist  free  play. 
"  I  am  tempted  to  insert,"  says  ]\Ir.  Southwick  in  a  similar 
connection,  "the  customary  protest  against  the  barbarous 
and  silly  custom  of  tight  lacing,  but  so  much  has  been 
written  and  spoken  against  this  utterly  indefensible  method 
of  self-destruction,  that  ignorance  on  such  a  vital  point  is 
inexcusable.  Sensible  parents  and  teachers  know  their  duty: 
the  law  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest  will  take  care  of  the 
rest. ' '  * 

*  Southwick  :  "Elocution  and  Actior  "  p.  23.  Edgar  S.  Werner, 
New  York. 


\'\  LMKODUCTION 

5.  Do  n«>l  try  to  |>u>li  (.>ut  the  abiloiiun  as  far  as 
possible. 

6.  Kinally  it  ^houl^.l  l.o  saiil  tliat  the  exercises  arc  not 
wortli  the  time  you  spend  in  readin}?  about  them,  unless  yt  u 
take  thetn  regularly.  Vou  cannot  take  enough  exercise  in  a 
day  to  last  a  month.  To  be  of  real  benefit  the  exercise  must 
be  regular,  insistent,  taken  rain  or  shine,  day  in  and  day 
out. 

TO    AH)     IN     ni.LINc;    THE    KNTIKK    LUNGS 

1.  Take  an  erect  position.  Inhale  slowly  through  the 
nostrils,  filling  the  lower  part  of  the  lungs  first,  then  the 
upper  j)art.  The  abdomen  will  at  first  be  pushed  out,  but 
when  the  upper  part  of  the  lungs  is  expanded,  it  will  slightly 
recede.  Set  the  upper  chest  firm.  Hold  the  breath  a  few 
seconds — not  more  than  five  in  beginning — by  keeping  the 
diaphragm  fiat;   then  exhale  slowly  through  the  nostrils. 

2.  Inhale,  and  retain  the  breath,  as  in  F.xercise  i  ;  exhale 
through  the  mouth  on  the  sound  of  "  ha  ",  allowing  all  the 
air  to  escape  at  once. 

3.  Inhale,  and  retain  the  breatli,  as  in  Kxercisc  i;  then,  in 
order  to  fill  all  the  air-cells,  j)at  lightly  the  upper  j)art  of  the 
lungs.  Kxhale  slowly  on  the  sound  of  "  a  ''.  This  and  the 
following  exercise  should  be  practiced  with  care.  Aever 
strike  the  lungs  severely. 

4.  Inhale,  and  retain  the  breath,  as  in  Exercise  i.  Bend 
fonvard,  letting  some  one  pat  you  lightly,  very  lightly,  upon 
the  back ;  exhale,  expelling  all  the  air  at  once. 

(In  speaking  of  exercises  similar  to  this  and  the  preceding, 
Leo  Kofler  says:  "  Frequently,  many,  perhaps  thousands, 
of  the  little,  fine  air-cells  of  the  lungs  may  become  com- 
pletely closed  or  shrivelled  in  consequence  of  prolonged 
imperfect  breathing.  ...  In  such  cases,  this  exercise  will 
give  complete  relief."  *) 

*  ''The  Art  of  Breathing,"  p.  90,     Edgar  S.  Werner,  N'evy  SurK 


BREATHING  xv 

5.  Stand  erect  with  arms  hanging  at  the  sides  of  the  body. 
Inhale  through  the  nostrils,  at  the  same  time  rising  on  the 
toes  and  lifting  the  arms  sideways  until  the  hands,  the  palms 
being  downward,  are  level  with  the  shoulders.  Hold  the 
breath  a  few  seconds;  then  exhale  slowly  through  the 
nostrils,  gradually  lowering  the  hands  to  the  sides,  and  the 
heels  to  the  floor. 

6.  Inhale,  and  retain  the  breath,  as  in  Exercise  i.  Place 
the  hands  on  the  hips  with  thumbs  behind;  bend  the  body 
to  the  right  three  times,  to  the  left  three  times,  then  exhale 
slowly  through  the  nostrils. 

TO    AID    IN    KXPANDIN'G    THE    UPPER    CHEST 

7.  "  Place  the  back  of  one  hand  just  below  the  shoulders, 
with  fingers  of  the  other  a  little  below  the  collar-bone.  Let 
the  chest  collapse,  or  fall  in.  Stretch  against  both  hands, 
expanding  the  body  in  a  diagonal  line,  outward  and  upward, 
downward  and  backward."  * 

8.  "  Stand  erect ;  stretch  both  arms  forward  at  right  angles 
with  the  che.st,  fingers  extended.  Take  a  full  breath  ener- 
getically through  the  nostrils;  retain  the  air  a  little  while, 
then  draw  the  arms  gently  back,  and  expel  the  air  all  at 
once  through  the  compressed  lips.  Then  draw  the  arms 
violently  forward,  taking  simultaneously  a  vigorous  breath 
through  the  nostrils;  hold  it  a  short  time,  then  throw  the 
arms  violently  back,  closing  the  fists,  and  expel  the  air 
forcibly  through  the  compressed  lips.  Do  this  a  few  times 
in  succession."  f 

9.  Repeat  Exercise  5.  In  the  same  way  raise  the  hands 
in  front  with  the  palms  downward  and  with  the  ends  of  the 
thumbs  touching.  Also  raise  the  hands  above  the  head, 
touching  the  ends  of  the  thumbs. 

*  Chamberlain  and  Clark  :  "  Principles  of  Vocal  Expression,"  p.  173. 
Scott,  Foresman  &  Co  ,  Chicago. 

+  Leo  Kofler:  "The  Art  of  Breathing,"  p.  93.  Edgar  S.  Werner, 
New  York. 


xvi  JNTROnUCTION 

TO    AIU    IN    STRKNGTHF.MM;    AM)     IN    lIKTTlNc;    CONTKOI.    OF    THE 
INIKKlOSTAL    MUSCLES 

lo.  Inhale  througli  tlic  nostrils,  fillinjj^  the  lower  part  of 
the  lungs  first,  enlarging  the  waist  as  if  trying  to  burst  a  belt. 
Rit.un  the  breath  for  a  few  seconds;  exhale  slowly  through 
a  small  opening  in  the  Hjjs,  contracting  the  siiies  as  much 
as  possible. 

I  I.  riacc  the  hands  at  the  sides  on  the  lower  or  floating 
ribs  with  thumbs  behind.  Standing  erect,  inhale  through  the 
nostrils,  expanding  the  trunk  sideways  against  the  hands. 
Pressing  in  slightly  with  the  hands,  exhale  through  a  small 
opening  of  the  lips. 

12.  Place  the  hands  on  the  sides  as  near  the  armpits  as 
possible.  Inhale  slowly  through  the  nostrils,  expanding  the 
trunk  sideways  against  the  hands. 

TO    AID    I.\     LEARNING    TO    INHALE    QUICKLY    AND     INAUDIBLY 

13.  Stand  erect;  inhale  througli  the  nostrils  quickly; 
exhale  slowly  through  the  nostrils. 

14.  Inhale  quickly  and  inaudibly  through  the  nostrils  with 
mouth  open;  exhale  slowly  through  a  small  opening  of  the 
lips. 

15.  Inhale  quickly  and  inaudibly  through  the  mouth; 
exhale  gently  through  the  nostrils. 

TO    SECURE    ECONOMICAL    EXPIRATION    OE    BREATH 

16.  Stand  upright;  inhale  slowly  through  the  nostrils,  fill- 
ing the  lower  part  of  the  lungs  first;  exhale  slowly  and 
Steadily  through  the  nostrils. 

17.  Inhale  slowly  through  the  nostrils;  exhale  slowly  and 
steadily  through  the  mouth,  holding  the  breath  back  with 
the  diaphragm. 

(In  taking  this  exercise  for  the  first  time,  you  will  find  that 
the  breath  comes  in  spurts.  This  unevenness  may  be  easily 
detected  by  exhaling  through  a  pitch-pipe,  or  better  by  hold- 


PRONUNCIATION  xvii 

ing  a  lighted  candle  in  front  of  the  mouth.  Practice  until 
you  can  exhale  without  causing  the  flame  of  the  candle  to 
flicker.) 

1 8.  Inhale  slowly  through  the  nostrils.  Exhale,  counting 
the  numerals  up  to  twenty-five,  controlling  the  breath  with 
the  diaphragm. 

(Do  not  try  to  empty  the  lungs  completely.  In  reading 
or  speaking  never  allow  the  lungs  to  get  entirely  empty.) 

19.  Expanding  the  oral  cavity  by  keeping  the  tongue 
down  and  lifting  the  uvula,  as  you  do  when  yawning,  inhale 
through  a  small  opening  of  the  lips.  "  Quietly  closing 
the  lips  over  the  parted  teeth,  exhale  gently  and  evenly 
through  the  nostrils  on  the  sound  of  '  m ',  i.e.,  delicately 
hum.      Be  sure  that  the  sound  does  not  quaver."  * 

20.  Inhale  through  the  nostrils.  Exhale  gently  and 
evenly,  through  a  round  opening  formed  by  the  lips,  on  the 
sound  of  long  "  o  ".      Be  sure  that  the  sound  is  steady. 

21.  Inhale  through  the  nostrils.  Exhale  gently  and  evenly 
through  the  mouth  on  the  sound  of  "  ii ". 

22.  Inhale  through  the  nostrils.  Having  the  muscles  of 
the  throat  relaxed  and  controlling  the  breath  by  the  dia- 
phragm, shout:  "  Hullo,  John!     Where  are  you  going  }  " 

PRONUNCIATION 

"  My  tex'  may  be  foun'  in  the  fif  and  six'  verses  of  the 
secon'  chapter  of  Titus;  and  the  subjec'  of  my  dis'course  is 
'  The  Goverment  of  ar  Homes.'  "  Such  slovenly  expression, 
exceedingly  irritating  to  a  listener,  shows  at  once  how  essen- 
tial to  the  public  speaker  is  good  pronunciation.  All  people, 
educated  or  uneducated,  like  to  listen  to  clean  articulation, 
to  words  "delivered  out  from  the  lips,  as  beautiful  coins 
newly  issued  from  the  mint,  deeply  and  accurately  impressed, 
perfectly  finished  ".      And  everyone  is  wearied  and  chafed 

*  Chamberlain  and  Clark  :  "Principles  of  Vocal  Expression,  p.  192. 
Scott,  Foresman  &  Co.,  Chicago. 


wiii  INTRODUCTION 

l\v  indistinct  and  careless  utterance.  It  rccjuires  an  excep- 
tionally good  voice,  clear  and  forcible  thinkin<j,  and  a  pleas- 
ing }»ersonality  to  offset  a  defective  pronunciation.  On  the 
other  hand  correct  pronunciation  may  make  amends  for 
some  of  the  worst  defects  of  voice  and  physique.  "  "^riie 
part  plaved  in  reailing  by  articulation",  an  all-im])()rlant 
element  of  pronunciation,  "is  very  great",  says  Legouve. 
"  It  is  articulation,  ami  articulation  alone,  tliat  gives  clear- 
ness, energy,  passion,  vehemence.  So  great  is  its  i)0\ver 
that  it  can  fully  compensate  for  a  feeble  voice  even  before  a 
large  assembly.  Actors  of  the  first  order  have  been  almost 
without  a  voice.  Potier  had  no  voice.  INIonvel,  the  famous 
Monvel,  had  no  voice,  he  had  not  even  teeth.  But  his 
audience  never  lost  a  word,  and  never  did  artist  produce  a 
more  pathetic  effect.  How  .'  By  the  perfection  of  his 
articulation. "  * 

Good  pronunciation  involves  (i)  proper  accentuation, 
(2)  correct  articulation.  Although  the  former  is  important, 
it  can  hardly  be  taught  by  rule.  The  accent  must  in  nearly 
all  cases  be  learned  by  consulting  a  dictionary  or  by  hearing 
others  pronounce.      It  is  perhaps  suilicient  to  say  that — 

(i)  "  The  general  tendency  of  the  English  language  is  to 
carr)'  the  chief  accent  back  towards  or  to  the  first  syllable  ",j' 
as  in"  despicable",  "  indis'solubleness  ",  "  inex'plicablc  ", 
"  per'emptoriness  ". 

(2)  "  Words  of  Anglo-Saxon  origin  commonly  take  the 
accent  on  the  root  syllable",  as  in  "enough'",  "  en- 
light'en  ",  "  heart'ily  ",  "  walk'er  ". 

(3)  The  principal  accent  is  sometimes  changed  to  show  a 
contrast;  as,  "What  I  have  done  ye  never  can  undo", 
"  Their  work  is  destructive  but  mine  is  constructive  ",  "  He 
must  increase  but  I  must  decrease";  also  to  distinguish  a 
noun  from  an  adjective,  as  "  ar'senic ",  "  arsen'ic ", 
"August",     "august'",    "min'ute",    "minute'",    or  an 

*  "Art  of  Reading,"  p.  51.      Edgar  S.  Werner,  New  York. 
I  Webster's  International  Dictionary,  p.  Ivi. 


P  RON  UNCI  A  TION  x  i  x 

adjective  and  noun  from  a  \erl),  as  "  pre'fix  ",  ■'prefix'", 
"  reb'el  ",  "rebel'",  "  sub'ject  ",  "subject'".  For  a  list 
of  words  occurring  in  the  selections  in  this  volume  often 
mispronounced  see  Appendix. 

"  Articulation  is  the  formation^  and  jointing  together  into 
syllables,  of  the  elementary  sounds  of  speech."  *  There  are 
in  articulation  at  least  two  elements, — the  mental  and  the 
mechanical.  That  "  slovenly  articulation  may  be  the  index 
of  moral  slovenliness, and  may  react  upon  the  latter  ",f  is 
perhaps  questionable,  but  surely  clear,  well-defined  thought 
tends  to  express  itself  in  clear-cut  words,  while  blurred  and 
confused  thinking  often  means  confused  and  indistinct 
articulation.  Drunken,  stupid,  and  barbarous  people  articu- 
late bunglingly.  "  The  Boobies  of  the  island  of  Fernando 
Po  communicate  with  each  other  in  what  can  hardly  be 
called  an  articulate  language.  Even  the  physical  organs  of 
such  people  remain  unformed  and  uncontrolled.  The  coarse 
thick  tongue,  and  ill-defined  blubber  lip,  of  every  un- 
developed or  degraded  type  of  mankind,  seem  to  be  suffi- 
ciently accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  for  thousands  of  years 
they  have  been  without  any  sharp  distinctions  in  their 
thoughts,  destitute  of  culture  and  refinement."!  The 
most  radical  remedy  for  a  poor  articulation,  then,  is  clear 
thinking.  Any  exercise  that  will  make  one  think  logic- 
ally, acutely,  and  quickly  is  also  an  exercise  in  articula- 
tion. 

Disordered  thinking  is  not,  however,  the  only  cause  of 
blurred  speaking.  The  mechanical  element  may  play  an 
important  part.  Often  the  organs  of  speech  are  incorrectly 
arranged ;  the  front  teeth  are  separated,  the  lower  jaw  is 
pushed  out  too  far,  the  tongue  tied,  the  palate  cleft,  the 
septum   tw'isted.      In  such  cases  one  should  seek  the  aid  of 

*  Mcllvaine :  "Elocution,"  p.  199.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New 
York. 

f  Corson  :   "  The  Voice  and  Spiritual  Education,"  p,  107. 
I  Mcllvaine  ;  "  ELocution, "  p.  219. 


\\  iNTRomurnoN 

tin-  lU'Utisl  or  tlu' surj^i'iin.  Tlu-  ili-ntist  may  brint;  the  tcfth 
tofjethcr  ami  cmcr  the  cleft  ])iihitr  with  a  plate;  the  surgeon, 
by  slight  cutting,  may  open  the  nasal  passages  or  set  free  the 
tied  tongue. 

Kurthermore  one  may  correct  wrong  articulation,  make 
manageable  "  t!ie  unruly  member",  and  make  the  stiff  lips 
flexible,  by  judicious  exercise. 

First  tjf  all  one  should  learn  to  pronounce  ilistinctly  the 
elementary  soumls. 

There  arc,  it  is  generally  estimated,  forty-four  elementary 
sounds  in  the  English  language,  lo  study  these  and  their 
various  classifications  is  surely  the  dry  bones  of  reading  and 
speaking,  but  a  mention  of  at  least  one  of  the  classifications 
is  essential  to  an  intelligent  and  thorough  practice  in  artic- 
ulation. 

'I"hc  sounds  arc  divided  into  vowels  and  consonants. 
When  a  vowel  sound  is  produced,  the  air,  vocalized  in  the 
larynx,  is  simply  motlified  by  the  shaping  of  the  oral  cavity, 
the  pharynx,  and  the  nasal  passages,  as  will  be  seen  by  pro- 
nouncing a,  e,  0,  u.  When  a  consonant  is  produced  the 
sound  is  more  than  modified  ;  it  is  obstructed  by  the  lips,  teeth, 
tongue,  and  soft  palate,  as  may  be  seen  by  pronouncing/,  /, 
g,  k,  or  c.  "  According  to  the  place  of  obstruction  especially 
concerned  in  their  formation  "  the  consonants  are  further 
divided  into  five  classes:  Labials,  Dentals,  Linguals,  Nasals, 
and  Palatals.  These  elementary  sounds  and  their  divisions 
are  shown  in  the  following  table, 

A  person  who  has  trouble  in  pronouncing  any  one  of  the 
elementary  sounds  should  first  learn  exactly  what  the  sound 
is,  then  find  out  the  position  in  which  the  organs  of  speech 
should  be  placed  in  pronouncing  it,  and  finally  practice  it 
untiringly.  In  extreme  cases  the  second  suggestion  will 
prove  especially  valuable.  Teachers  often  find,  for  example, 
that  to  instruct  one  to  say  "  far  "  instead  of  "  fah  ",  "  idea  " 
instead  of  "  idear  ",  or  "  arrive  "  instead  of  "  ah  wive  ",  it  is 
necessary  to  point  out  the  fact  that  "  r  "  is  formed  by  turn- 


PRONUNCIATION 

ELEMENTARY    SOUNDS 


Vowels  and 
Diphthongs. 

Vowels  and 
Diphthongs. 

Consonants. 

Consonants. 

LABIALS. 

LINGUALS. 

a  as  in  /ate 

6  as  in  no 

b  as  in  babe 

1  as  in  loll 

a  as  in  ah 

0  as  in  cot 

f  as  in  fifty 

r  as  in  rear 

a  as  in  all 

65  as  in  viooii 

m  as  in  maim 

DENTALS. 

a  as  in  care 

00  as  in  book 

p  as  in  pipe 

ch  as  in  cheu^ 

si  as  in  af 

u  as  in  use 

V  as  in  value 

d  as  in  did 

a  as  in  asA 

u  as  in  up 

W  as  in  work 

j  as  in ja?u 

e  as  in  eel 

u  as  iny«r 

PALATALS. 

S  as  in  saw 

e  as  in  lei 

oi  as  in  coil 

g  as  in  gag 

sh  as  in  shame 

e  as  vcifern 

on  as  in  out 

h  as  in  hat 

t  as  in  tent 

i  as  in  ice 

k  as  in  kick 

th.  as  in  thy 

\  as  in  ill 

y  as  in  you 

th  as  in  thigh 

NASAL. 

z  as  in  zenith 

n  as  in  nuft 

zh  as  in  aztire 

ng  as  in  rif/g 

ing  up  the  tip  of  the  tongue  "  so  as  nearly  to  touch  the  roof 
of  the  mouth  at  the  highest  point  of  the  arch. "  * 


VOWEL    SOUNDS 

Though  the  vowels  are  not  especially  difficult  to  pro- 
nounce, wrong  instruction  and  example,  ignorance,  and 
slovenly  habits  lead  to  manifold  mistakes  in  the  pronuncia- 
tion of  these  sounds.  Who  upon  the  street  does  not  hear 
many  times  a  day  "  sence  "  for  "since",  "git  red"  for 
"  get  rid  ",  "  jest  "  for  "  just  ",  "  Jurden  "  for  "  Jordan  ", 
"  reuse  "   for  "  rinse,"    "  winduh  "   for  "  window  "  ?     Dr. 

*  A  clear  and  detailed  description  of  the  position  of  the -organs  in 
forming  the  forty -four  elementary  sounds  may  be  found  in  Mcllvaine's 
"Elocution"  or  in  Guttemanu's  "Gymnastics  of  the  Voice." 


wii  /,V7"/e()/)/'(//7c>;V 

Mackenzie  veil  says;  "  ( )ii  tlif  ]iri>|>ir  ]'riKliu~tion  of  the 
vowels  ilepeiuls  ilistinctness  of  articulation;  and  tlic  final, 
as  it  is  the  severest  test,  of  a  speaker's  trainint,'  is  the  per- 
fection of  his  reiiderini;^  those  live  Utters  </,  c,  t\  o,  u." 

It  is  an  interesting  fact  that,  as  far  as  j)ritnuneiation  goes, 
it  is  chiefly  in  the  vowel  sonnds  that  the  various  dialects  of 
the  Knglisli  language  dilfir  from  one  anotlur. 

"  Take  that!    an'  <'f  ever  ye  g/'t  a  peep, 
(juess  vt-'ll  kcteh  a  weasil  asleep! 

Tlic  Mnii/ment. 

"No:   Kngland  she  wouKl  li<?v  'em,  Fee,  ]'"aw,  Funi  1 
(/i'z  though  she  hadn't  fools  enough  to  home,) 
So  they've  returned  'em — 

The  liridge. 
llt'v  they  ?      W<;1,  by  jicaven, 
'llu't's  the  w//st  news  I've  h^t'rd  stance  Seventy-seven!  " 

An  exhaustive  classification  of  the  many  mistakes  made  in 
pronouncing  the  vowel  sounds  is  hardly  feasible,  Imt  the 
following  cautions  may  be  given  in  regard  to  some  of  the 
crude  and  common  blunders.      Do  not  f)ronounce: 

1.  a,  i:   extra,  extrl ;    Martha,  ^larlhi  ;   algebra,  algebri. 

2.  a,  a:   laugh,  Uif;   calf,  cdf;   calm,  calm;  half,  half. 

3.  a,  e:  naked,  neked;  plague,  jjlegue;  plaintiff,  plentiff; 
ate,  et. 

4.  d,  e:   c:.tch,  ketch;  gather,  gether;  January,  Jenuary. 

5.  a,  li:   rather,  ruthcr. 
(k   a,  u:   always,  alwuz. 

7.  e,  e:  really,  really;   clear,  clear;  nearly,  nearly. 

8.  e,  a :  egg,  ag;  edge,  adge;  keg,  kag;  regular,  ragular; 
pleasure,  playsure;  measure,  maysure;  treasure,  trfiysure; 
again,  again;  against,  aganst. 

9.  e,  u:   cellar,  suUer;  whether,  whuther 

10.  e,  i:  steady,  stiddy;  instead,  instid;  umbrella,  um- 
brilla;   beneficent,  benificent. 


PRONUNCIATION  xxiii 

11.  e,  i :   clique,  clik;   creek,  crick;   sleek,  slick. 

12.  i,  e:  hinder  hender;  captain,  capten ;  English  (Ing- 
lish),  English;  fountain,  founten ;  mountain,  mounten ; 
curtain,  curten;  Philadelphia,  Pheladelphia;  pretty  (pritty), 
pretty;  rinse,  reuse. 

13.  o,  6:  alone,  alone;  boat,  boat;  bone,  bone;  both, 
both;  choke,  choke;  coat,  coat;  glory,  glory;  home,  home; 
hope,  hope;  load,  load;  most,  most;  stone,  stone;  story, 
story;   wrote,  wrote. 

"  Learning  condemns  beyond  the  reach  of  hope 
The  careless  lips  that  speak  of  soap  for  soap; 
Her  edict  exiles  from  her  fair  abode 
The  clownish  voice  that  utters  road  for  road; 
Less  stern  to  him  who  calls  his  coat  a  coat. 
And  steers  his  boat  believing  it  a  boat. 
She  pardoned  one,  our  classic  city's  boast. 
Who  said  at  Cambridge,  most  instead  of  most. 
But  knit  her  brows  and  stamped  her  angry  foot 
To  hear  a  Teacher  call  a  root  a  root." 

O.  W.  Holmes. 

14.  u,  u:  window,  winduh;  shadow,  shaduh;  widow, 
widuh  ;   won "  t,  wiin ' t. 

15.  u,  li :  bonnet,  biinnet;  chock-full,  chuck-full;  for, 
fiir;   hovel,  huvel ;   what  (whot),  whut. 

16.  6b,  06:  broom,  broom;  hoof,  hoof;  moor,  moor; 
proof,  proof;  roof,  roof;  room,  room. 

This  is  an  error  to  which,  it  is  said,  New-Englanders  are 
especially  liable.  To  the  following  rule  there  are  but  few 
exceptions  :  00  is  long  before  all  letters  except  k  ;  before  k 
it  is  generally  short.  In  blood  and  flood  00  has  the  sound 
of  u,  in  brooch,  door,  and  floor  of  o. 

17.  ou  and  au,  o:  aught,  ot;  caught,  cut;  fought,  fut; 
naughty,  nOtty ;   ought,  ot ;  thought,  thot ;   sought,  sot. 

18.  u,  e:  just,  jest;   such,  sech. 


XXIV  J^JTKOnrCTKW 

19.  u,  00;  assume,  assi>omo;  ci)M>lituti('ii,  coiistitootidii; 
duke,  liookc,  instituti-.  institoDtc ;  mule,  imoilc;  jjnxlucc, 
proiioiKc;   sinew,  sinoo;   tunc,  toonc. 

Never  do  wc  licar  "  beauty  "  jironounceil  "booty",  or 
"few",  "  foo  "  :  but  so  coninidiily  is  "duty"  called 
"  dooty  ",  and  "  new  ",  "  noo  ",  thai  wc  can  say  there  is  a 
decided  tendency  in  many  j)arts  of  the  country,  especially  in 
New  I'.ngland,  to  injure  the  beauty  of  the  ]-".nglisli  lani^uagc 
by  disregarding  the  riglit  sound  of  long  u.  In  describing 
this  sound  Webster  says  that  "  it  is  a  diplithong  with  00  for 
the  terminal  or  main  part,  and  for  the  initial  a  very  brief  and 
evanescent  element  nearly  related  to  /  (ill)  or  to  e  (eve);  and 
in  the  greater  number  of  cases  there  comes  in  as  a  connect- 
ing glide  a  more  or  less  full  sound  of  the  consonant  r.  .  .  , 
In  no  case  whatever  should  the  y  sound  come  in  when  it  will 
not  come  in  smoothly  as  a  glide.  "^  The^  element  is  omitted 
and  the  sound  becomes  almost  that  of  00  after  c/i  as  in 
"  chew  ",  s/i  as  in  "  shumac  "  or  its  equivalent  j  in  "  sure  " 
(not,  however,  after  j  when  it  is  not  pronounced  like  s/i,  as 
in  "assume",  for  example),  after  r,  and  after  /  when  pre- 
ceded by  another  consonant,  as  in  flue,  flew,  glue,  rude> 
brute,  bruin,  blue,  frugal. 

20.  u,  J,  and  re  like  er:  animate,  anermate;  congratulate, 
congraterlate;  executor,  exekertor;  manufacture,  manerfac- 
ture;  querulous,  quererlous;  regulate,  regerlate;  represent, 
repersent. 

COXSOXAXT    SOUNDS 

In  the  pronunciation  of  consonants  the  most  common 
mistakes  are  (i)  omission  of  sounds,  as  "  artic  "  for  "  arc- 
tic ",  "  Baptis  "  for  "  Baptist  ",  "  beginnin  "  for  "begin- 
ning", "  catridge  "  for  "cartridge",  "  histry  "  for  "his- 
tory", "  labratory  "  for  "laboratory",  "  scritk  "  for 
"  shriek  ",  "  twelth  "  for  "  twelfth  ",  "  wy  "  for  "  why  "; 
(2)     addition     of    sounds,     as    "  acrosst  "     fur    "across", 

*  Webster's  International  Dictionary,  p.  Ixiv. 


P  RON  UN  L.IA  7  ION  xx  v 

"  acquiesk  "  for  "acquiesce",  "  drawring  "  for  "draw- 
ing ",  "  halleluliah  ",  for  "  halleluiah  ",  "  heighth  "  for 
"height",  "  rendring "  for  "rending";  (3)  substitution 
of  one  sound  for  another,  as  "  cramberry  "  for  "  cranberry  ", 
"  decripid  "  for  "decrepit",  "  enconium  "  for  "enco- 
mium ",  "  Jacop  "  for  "  Jacob  ",  "  Jubiter  "  for  "  Jupiter  ", 
"  nasturtiun  "  for  "nasturtium",  "  princibal  "  for  "  prin- 
cipal ",  "troth"  for  "trough";  (4)  clumsy  transition 
from  one  sound  to  another,  as  "  athelete  "  for  "  athlete", 
"  belind  "  for  "  blind  ",  "  spelash  "  for  "  splash  ",  "  Don- 
cher-know  "  for  "  Don't  you  know  ",  "  the  panting  spirit's 
eye  "  for  "  the  panting  spirit  sigh  ".  Serious  as  are  the  first 
three  defects,  the  last  is  perhaps  the  worst.  Often  it  is  the 
result  of  carelessness;  sometimes  of  an  attempt  to  be  very 
exact.  One  should  practice  correct  pronunciation  so  that  it 
will  seem  natural,  not  stilted,  conscious,  and  artificial.  The 
action  of  the  organs  should  be  "  prompt,  neat,  and  easy  "; 
the  contact  of  the  organs  should  be  firm  but  delicate,  and 
the  reaction  quick, 

ARTICULATION    EXERCISES 

In  practicing  articulation  do  not  forget  the  breathing 
exercises  already  given.  Ability  to  control  the  breath  when 
one  is  nervous,  as  almost  every  person  is  likely  to  be  before 
an  audience,  remedies  not  only  stuttering  but  other  forms  of 
incorrect  articulation.  It  is  much  easier  to  enunciate  well 
when  the  lungs  contain  plenty  of  air  than  when  they  are 
nearly  empty. 

After  taking  the  breathing  exercises,  practice  the  following: 

1.  Pronounce  distinctly  and  quickly  the  elementary 
sounds  as  given  on  page  xv. 

2.  Repeat  vigorously  each  of  the  following  groups  three 
times :  * 

[a)  ee,  00,  ah.  (c)   ip,  it,  ik. 

[b)  oi,  ai,  ou.  [d)  kiff,  kiss,  kish. 

*  From  J.  \V.  Churchill's  "Vocal  Culture,"  p.  3. 


xxvi  JNTRODUCTION 

(f)  wliicli,  cliurcli,  myth.         (j)  rare,  rear,  car, 
(y)  ib,  id,  ig.  (X-)  form,  from,  /ar. 
{g)  sim,  sin,  sing.  (/)   that,  azure,  vault. 
{/i)  lil,  lol,  la.  (w/)  jeer,  zeb's,  wit. 

(I )   par,  mar.  ?tar.  (w)   yet,  you,  }a\vn. 

3.  Lcgouvc,  quoting  tlie  worcLs  of  Regnier,  gives  what  he 
considers  an  infallible  means  of  correcting  all  defects  of 
articulation,  "  Vou  face  ycmr  frieml  exactly,  and,  pronounc- 
ing your  words  distinctly  but  in  an  underbreath,  you  com- 
mission your  articulation  to  convey  them  to  your  friend's 
eyes  rather  than  to  his  ears,  for  he  is  as  carefully  watching 
how  you  speak  as  he  is  intently  listening  to  what  you  say. 
Articulation,  having  here  a  double  duty  to  perform,  that  of 
sound  as  well  as  its  own  peculiar  function,  is  compelled  as 
it  were  to  dwell  strongly  on  each  syllable  so  as  to  land  it 
safely  within  the  intelligence  of  your  hearer."  Following 
Regiiier"s  directions^  pronounce  the  following  sentences: 

(<?)   Where  are  you  going  .'' 

(d)  John  has  gone  to  the  shore. 

(c)  The  dentist  can  perhaps  cover  the  cleft  {)alate  with  a 
plate, 

(d)  Bring  me  a  pair  of  scissors. 

{e)    Mother  said  you  were  ver}'  diligent. 

(y)   When  Dick  comes  home,  send  him  to  my  house. 

(g)  The  Isthmian  canal  is  not  to  be  built  this  year. 

4.  Repeat  vigorously  the  following  words  and    syllables 
illustrating  initial  and  terminal  combinations  of  consonants: 
Bla,  a,  e,  e,  I,  0,  u,  oi.  Black,  bleat,  blind,  bloat,  blush. 
Cla,  a,  e,  e,  i,  6,  11,  oi.  Clam,  clear,  cling,   clove,  cluck. 
Fla,  a,  e,  e,  i,  0,  u,  oi.  Flake,  fleet,  flight,  float,  flume. 
Gla,  a,  e,  e,  i,  0,  u,  oi.  Glad,  glebe,  glib,  gloat,  glume, 
Pla,  a,  e,  e,  i,  0,  u,  oi.  Plain,  pledge,  plight,  plot,  plume. 
Sla,  a,  e,  e,  i,  o,  u,  oi.  Slang,  sled,  slight,  sloth,  slug. 
Spla,  a,  e,  e,  i,  0,  u,  oi.  Splash,    spleen,     splice,    splotch, 

splurge. 


PRONilNClATlOhl  XXVI 1 

Brii,  a,  e,  e,  i,  o,  u,  oi.      Ikawn,      breast,      bridge,      broth, 

bruise. 
Cra,  a,  e,  e,  i,  o,  li,  oi.      Crawl,  crease,  crib,  cross,  crus. 
Drii,  a,  e,  e,  i,  0,  u,  oi.      Drag,  dress,  drill,  dross,  drunk. 
Fra,  a,  e,  e,  i,  6,  ii,  oi.      Frail,  fresh,  fringe,  frost,  fruit. 
Gra,  a,  e,  e,  i,  0,  ii,  oi.      Grab,  green,  grip,  grope,  gruff. 
Pra,  a,  e,  e,  i,  o,  u,  oi.      Prance,      preach,     prince,      prop, 

prude. 
Sprii,  a,  e,  e,  i,  o,  u,  oi.      Sprain,      spread,      sprit,      sprout, 

spruce. 
Shra,  a,  e,  e,  i,  u,  u,  oi.      .Shrep,       shrill,      shrine,      shroud, 

shrug. 
Strii,  a,  e,  e,  i,  0,  ii,  oi.      Strange,     stretch,     strike,     strove, 

struck. 
Thra,  a,  e,  e,  i,  0,  u,  oi.      Thrash,      thread,      thrill,     throw, 

thrush. 
Tra,  a,  e,  e,  i,  0,  i\,  oi.      Trash,  tread,  trite,  troll,  trudge. 
Smii,  a,  e,  e,  i,  o,  u,  oi.      Smash,      smear,      smite,      smock, 

smut. 
Sna,  a,  e,  e,  i,  0,  u,  oi.      Snarl,  sneak,  snipe,  snob,  snuff. 
Spii,  a,  e,  e,  i,  0,  u,  oi.      Spark,  spear,  spile,  spoke,  spur. 
Sta,  a,  e,  e,  i,  u,  u,  oi.       Stare,  steal,  stick,  stop,  stump. 
Kwii,  a,  e,  e,  i,  0,  u,  oi.      Quake,  queen,  quite,  quote,  quod. 
Skwa,  a,  e,  e,  i,  0,  ii,  oi.     Square,    squeak,    squelch,    squid, 

squad. 
{Rb.)     Garb,  orb,  curb,  verb. 

{Bd,  gd,  ngd,  bid,  did,  pld,  rid,  Id,  rd,  rhd,  rmd,  rnd,  rvd.') 
Ribbed,  robbed,  robed,  rubbed  ;  wagged,  wigged, 
logged,  lugged  ;  banged,  fanged,  hanged  ;  babbled, 
nibbled,  tumbled;  paddled,  bridled,  huddled;  templed, 
dimpled,  rumpled;  twirled,  world,  curled;  hailed,  held, 
billed,  fold,  pulled;  bard,  reared,  fired,  ford;  barbed, 
garbed,  orbed  ;  harmed,  termed,  formed  ;  burned, 
spurned,  churned ;  starved,  nerved,  swerved. 
(Z/.)  Pelf,  golf,  Guelph,  gulf. 
{Ng.)     Banging,  singing,  song,  flung. 


xxviii  i\TKOnucnoN 

(^J>  '/)      Hiidgc,  lodge,  judge;  charge,  fi>rgc,  gorge,  purge. 
(Z^,   nk,   ri.)     Talc,    elk,    silk,    bulk;    tank,    brink,    monk; 

dark,  dirk,  fork,  work. 
[B/,  dl,  rl.)     Tabic,  rabble,  crumble,  paiklle,  needle,  fondle; 

snarl,  earl,  churl. 
(TV;.)      Lathe,  blithe,  .^^mooth.  wreathe,  worth,  truth,  length, 

dearth,  swarth. 
(^ /,///,  /■///,  srn.)      Ilarni,  term,  lirm,  storm;  elm,  whelm,  film; 

spasm,  prism,  cynicism. 
(/>/,   kn,  pn,   rn,    sri,   ///,  77/.)      Madden,    bidden,    broaden, 

trodden;  shaken,    sicken,    broken,    shrunken;   cheapen, 

deepen,   sharpen;    warn,   yearn,    fern,    discern;    lessen, 

chosen,    poison,     season;    hearten,    sweeten,     lighten; 

raven,    leaven,   woven;  toughen,   roughen;   strengthen, 

smoothen,  earthen. 
(Z/,  ?ri/>,  sp.)     Scalp,  whelp,  kelp,  pulp;  cramp,  limp,  romp, 

bump;  grasp,  wisp,  cusp,  wasp. 
(Cr,  ih,  ks,  h,  figs,  ns,  vips,  ms,  ns,  rs,  ss.)     Ethics,  comics, 

optics  ;    beads,    odds,    suds  ;    stocks,    thinks,    hunks; 

galls,  bells,  pulls;  hangings,  innings,  doings,  dunnings; 

pains,    reins,   downs;    mumps,   limps,    romps;    claims, 

teems,   sums;    pains,   downs,   runs;    cars,   hers,   pours; 

mass,  chess,  fuss. 
{Cl,/l,  //,  ni,  pi,  rl,  si,  dsl.)     Act,  sect,   strict,   duct;  draft, 

cleft,   loft,   tuft;    malt,    felt,    volt;    chant,   scent,    dint, 

front;    swept,   script,   prompt;  start,    pert,    sort;    last, 

jest,  just;  guardst,  midst,  formedst,  shouldst,  troubledst. 

5.    Repeat  quickly  and  distinctly  the  following  syllables 
and  sentences: 

LABIALS 

B  as  in  babe,  bob,   robbed.      Bii,  be,  bl,  bO,  bu;  ab,  eb, 
ib,  Ob,  ub. 

(a)  Bob,  the  batter,  imbibed  bad  brandy, 

(b)  Both  brown  beauties  bit  the  black  bait. 

(c)  Brawny  black  brutes  bounded  back,  breaking  the  big 
bridge. 


PRONUNCIATION  xxix 

{d)  Blundering  Brown,  the  big  blusterer,  bragged  brazenly 
about  his  bad  brother. 

F  as  in  fife,  from,  faithful.  Fa,  fe,  fl,  fO,  fu;  af,  ef, 
if,  off,  uf. 

{a)   Fearful  of  the  false,  fight  faithfully,  Francis. 

(b)  "  Flags  fluttered  fretfully  from  foreign  fortifications 
and  fleets." 

(c)  Foolish  footmen,  frowning  frightfully,  frequently  fol- 
lowed Frank's  friend. 

(d)  Frugal  Flavius,  flushing  feverishly,  fiercely  found 
fault  with  Flora's  frivolity. 

IM  as  in  maim,  man,  lamp.  i\Ia,  me,  ml,  mo,  mu;  am, 
em,  im,  om,  um. 

(a)  Many  unmanageable  monsters,  married  to  magnani- 
mous men,  make  much  mischief. 

(b)  Mary's  mamma,  admiring  Mammon  and  missing  the 
man's  money,  murmured  much  and  mourned  many  months. 

(c)  Memorable  miracles,  madam,  made  momentous  mes- 
merism or  animal  magnetism. 

(d)  The  enemy's  mules  mutilated  many  maimed  militia- 
men. 

P  as  in  pick,  rip,  pop.  Pa,  pe,  pi,  pO,  pu;  ap,  ep,  ip, 
op,  iip. 

[a)  Poor  proud  Peter  proved  his  purpose  praiseworthy. 

(b)  The  porter's  parents,  praying  pardon,  pleaded  pitiably. 
{c)   Ponto  the  puppy,  puffing  uninterruptedly,  jumped  up 

on  top  of  the  porch. 

[d)  Paul,  the  popular  papist,  appointed  Potipher  to  pro- 
tect the  public  parks. 

V  as  in  vine,  live  revive.  Va,  ve,  vl,  vo,  vti;  ave,  eve, 
ive,  Ove,  uve. 

{a)  The  voluble,  vivacious  villain  vociferously  vowed 
revenge. 

(b)  Vivian's  vernacular  gives  vividness  to  every  verse, 

(c)  Avoid  the  vivisection  of  viviparous  vertebrates. 
{d)  Victor's  verses  revived  a  love  of  adventure. 


\xv  INTRODUCTION 

W  as  ill  wave,  luw,  wliilo.  \\'a,  we,  \vi,  wo,  wfi  ;  caw, 
few,  how. 

(<;)  When  William  went  west  where  Wheeler  was  working, 
we  wished  we  were  where  we  could  warn  him. 

(^)  The  wlierry  at  the  wharf  was  weighteil  with  wliale-oil, 
whey,  and  wheat. 

(c)   Wily  Will  willfully  whistled  wildly. 

(</)  Woodsworth,  winking  wisely,  whi|)])ed  the  whining 
whelp. 

rALATAT.S 

C,  as  in  gave,  gig,  rag.    (Ja.  ge,  gi,  go,  gii;  ag,  eg,  ig,  6g,  ug. 
(</)   Ciood  ground  (jregory  gave  for  grinding  grists  glee- 
fully. 

{d)   Greedy,  ungrateful  growlers  gave  gruel  grumblingly. 

(c)  Great-grandfathers,  gowned  gaudily,  gallantly  guarded 
Grace's  garlands. 

[(/)  Gratiano,  groaning  gloomily  and  growling  grudgingly, 
grew  graceless  and  grewsome. 

H  as  in  ha,  heave,  liad.      Ha,  he  hi,  ho,  hu. 
(rt)   Who  gave  Hugh  tliat  howling  hyena  ? 

(d)  Hugo's  heroic  act  aided  Hiram's  helplessness. 

(c)  How  horribly  Herbert  hurt  his  head  at  honest  Henry's 
house! 

(d)  I  did  not  say  wig,  heart,  car,  hair,  ami  all,  but  wliig, 
art,  hear,  air,  and  hall. 

K  as  in  kite,  cake,  oak.  Ka,  ke,  kl,  ko,  ku;  ak,  ek,  ik, 
ok,  uk. 

(a)   Kindly  keep  Kate  from  kicking  Caleb. 

(6)  Kittens  cunningly  crept  across  the  cotton  coverlet, 
awaking  Kenneth,  the  cross  cook. 

(c)  The  Kuklu.x  Klan  causes  Kirke  to  keep  his  cutlass 
keen. 

(</)  Kenelm,  cried  the  coxcomb,  carve  the  cuticle  from 
the  cunners  with  cousin's  crude  cutlery. 

V  as  in  you,  say,  yon,  Ya,  ye,  yi,  yo,  yii;  bay,  they, 
boy,  buy. 


PRONUNCU  TION  xxx  i 

(a)  Yesterday  the  yeoman's  youngsters  in  yacht  and  yawl 
yelled  and  yelped  unyieldingly. 

(i)  The  yarns  of  the  ubiquitous  Yankee  used  to  be 
humorous,  yet  you  yawned. 

(c)  Your  Seniors,  yoking  the  yellow  yearlings,  drew  yule- 
logs  to  yonder  yard. 

((/)  I'.urope's  universities  euphemistically  eulogi/xd  the 
Union. 


N  as  in  near,  and,  ran.      Na,  ne,  ni,  no,  nii;   an,  en.  In, 

on,  (in. 

(a)  Ned,  noting  the  negro's  nod,  noisily  l;nocked  at 
Nathan's  nephew's  nursery. 

(d)  Neptune  nearly  annihilated  the  nation's  neglected 
navy. 

(c)  Next  noon  non-conformists  announced  renewed  enmity 
to  the  Government's  enrollment. 

[d)  Noisy  nomads  never  noticed  Naaman's  noble  name. 
Ng  as  in  sing,  Hung.      Ang,  eng,  ing,  Ong,  iing. 

(a)   "  The  Cataract  strong  then  plunges  along, 
Striking  and  raging  as  if  a  war  waging, 
Rising  and  leaping,  sinking  and  creeping, 
Showering  and  springing,  flying  and  flinging, 
Writhing  and  ringing." 
(d)   "  Recoiling,  turmoiling  and  toiling  and  boiling, 

And  gleaming  and  streaming  and  steaming  and  beaming, 
And  rushing  and  flushing  and  brushing  and  gushing. 
And  flapping  and  rapping  and  clapping  and  slapping, 
And  curling  and  whirling  and  purling  and  twirling. 
And  thumping  and  plumping  and  bumping  and  jumpipg. 
And  dashing  and  flashing  and  splashing  and  clashing; 
And  so  never  ending  but  always  descending, 
Sounds  and  motions  for  ever  and  ever  are  blending,, 
All  at  once  and  all  o'er,  with  a  mighty  uproar. 
And  this  way  the  Water  comes  down  at  Lodore. " 


\xvii  INTRODUCTION 

l.lNlilAl.S 

L  as  in  lull,  love,  oil.      La,  le,  II,  16,  lu;   al,  el,  il,  01,  iil. 

(./)  Laban,  ladc-ned  lightly,  labored  leisurely  and  lolled 
listlessly,  looking  longingly  at  Llewellyn's  lunch. 

{l>)   Luckily  life's  loneliness  left  lively  Lulu's  loyalty. 

(r)  Lolling,  la/.y,  lisping  Lillo,  lounging  lubberly,  laughed 
loudly  at  laboring  Lael. 

(</)  Little  likeliness,  lauglied  the  low  lawyer,  that  legi- 
bility and  liability  are  linked  indissolubly. 

R  as  in  for,  run,  rare.     Ra,  re,  rl,  rO,  ru;  far,  er,  ir,  or,  ur. 

{a)  RoUo,  rioting  uproariously,  rushed  rashly  round  the 
rough  roof. 

{b)  The  wronged,  ragged  rabble  roared  ravenously. 

(c)    Rude,  rocky,  rural  roads  run  round  rugged  ranges. 

(li)  Rough  red  cords  Robert  rarely  wound  round  the  rude 
rake. 

DKNTALS 

Ch  as  in  church,  rich,  charge.  Cha,  che,  chi,  cho,  chu; 
arch,  orch,  urch. 

(a)  Cherish,  cheerful  cliiklren,  the  church's  teachings. 

{b)  Charles,  charging  checks  to  Charity,  cheated  Chester. 

(c)  Chastened  with  chafing  chains,  Chauncey  challenged 
Chandler. 

{d)   By  chance  Charles  changed  the  cheap  chamber  chairs. 

D  as  in  did,  rode,  door.  Da,  de,  di,  do,  du;  ad,  ed, 
id,  od,  ud. 

(a)  Daring  Daedalus  defiantly  disobeyed  the  duke's  man- 
dates. 

(b)  Didymus,  disregarding  disgrace,  delighted  in  dastardly 
deeds. 

(c)  Dora,  defending  sound  doctrines,  discomfited  the  dis- 
putant. 

{(I)  Dick,  dodging  duty,  dreaded  degrading  defeat, 
•  J  as  in  joy,  judge.     Ja,  je,  ji,  jo,  ju;  aj,  ej,  ij,  6j,  uj. 
(a)  Joyful  John  joins  Joseph,  jumping  the  joist. 
{b)  James,  the  jailer,  judged  Jacques,  the  Jacobin,  jusiJ/ 


PROhJUNCIATlON  xxxiii 

(c)  Jasper,  the  jolly  juror,  justly  joked  John,  the  jour- 
nalist. 

(d)  Jacob,  the  Jewish  jockey,  jovially  jingled  Juliet's 
jewels. 

S  and  sh.  Sii,  se,  si,  so,  su;  as,  es,  is,  us,  lis.  Sha, 
she,  shi,  etc. 

{a)  Surely  slowness  and  slovenliness  should  be  shunned, 
Susan. 

{b)  Simple  Sampson  sleeping  snores. 

(c)  Selfish  Silas  with  short,  shrill  shrieks  shouts  ashore 
saucily. 

(d)  After  a  short  session  Sarah  serves  shrub  and  sherbet 
to  the  soldiers. 

(e)  Seated  on  shore  she  sees  ships  with  shining  sails  on 
the  shimmering  sea. 

T  as  in  tar,  hat,  to.      Ta,  te,  ti,  to,  tii;   at,  et.  It,  6t,  ut. 

{a)  Tomlinson  treated  the  delicate  subject  touchingly, 
tenderly,  and  tactfully. 

{b)  Tottering  Titus  twice  tried  tremblingly  to  trace  the 
tortuous  track. 

(c)  Thomas,  the  teetotaler,  told  Timothy  to  teach  true 
temperance  to  Tristam,  the  tricky,  tipsy  tippler. 

(d)  Tom  talking  trivial  twaddle  tried  twice  to  treat  Twist 
truculently. 

Th  as  in  there,  thin,  and  wreath.  Than,  then,  thin, 
thun,  thun;   ath,  eth,  etc. 

{a)  Theophilus  Thistle,  the  thistle-sifter,  sifted  a  sieve  of 
unsifted  thistles.  If  Theophilus  Thistle,  the  thistle-sifter, 
sifted  a  sieve  of  unsifted  thistles,  where  is  the  sieve  of  un- 
sifted thistles  that  Theophilus  Thistle,  the  thistle-sifter, 
sifted  ? 

{b)  Thursday  Theophilus  giveth  cousin  Thisbe  the  thou- 
sandth thwack. 

(c)  Through  the  thin  cloth  the  thief  thrusts  thorns. 

Z  as  in  zenith,  lazy,  adz.  Za,  ze,  zi,  z6,  zu;  az,  ez,  iz, 
6z,  uz. 


WMv  INTRODUCTION 

(a)  Zara  resoumls  with  suumls  of  Sarah's  zither. 

(3)  ZuricI  resists  Zacchcus  zealously. 

((■)  Kzra's  seizure  assured  the  exposure  of  Ziska's  treasure. 

ELKMKXTS    ()K    KXl'RKSSION 

In  voice  production,  as  lias  been  shown,  the  air  coming 
from  the  lungs  is  vocalized  in  the  larynx,  and  is  molded 
into  consonants  and  vowels  by  the  organs  of  articulation. 
There  is,  however,  in  the  expression  of  thought  and  emotion 
more  than  this.  In  the  expression  of  anger,  for  example, 
the  voice  takes  a  tone  different  from  that  which  it  takes  in 
the  expression  of  pity.  It  also  takes  on  a  higher  pitch,  a 
greater  force,  and  a  more  rapid  movement.  We  will  now 
consider  these  elements  <»f  expressicjn. 

QUALITY 

Quality  is  that  which  distinguishes  the  voice  of  one  person 
from  that  of  another.  Two  persons  sing  on  the  same  pitch, 
that  is,  their  tones  are  at  the  same  point  on  the  musical 
scale;  they  sing  at  the  same  loudness;  and  yet  the  voice  of 
one  is  noticeably  different  from  that  of  the  other.  They 
differ  in  quality.  Quality  it  is  which  distinguishes  the  tone 
of  a  violin  from  that  of  a  piano.  The  violin-string  may 
vibrate  the  same  number  of  times  as  the  piano-cord,  and 
therefore  produce  a  sound  of  the  same  loudness;  but  it  is 
made  of  different  material,  and  has  behind  it  a  resonance- 
chamber  of  different  shape  and  size.  These  give  it  a  differ- 
ent quality. 

To  produce  the  best  quality  of  voice  a  speaker  must  first 
of  all  have  healthy,  well-developed,  perfectly  controlled  vocal 
organs.  A  small  mouth,  thick  vocal  cords,  imperfect  breath- 
ing, rough,  dry  lining  of  the  resonance-chambers,  any  one 
of  these  will  greatly  injure  the  quality  of  the  voice.  More- 
over the  condition  of  the  mind  and  heart  affects  greatly  the 
voice-quality;    for    the    voice,   it   must   always  be  borne  in 


QUALITY  XXXV 

mind,  is  not  simply  the  product  of  a  machine.  It  is  the 
manifestation  of  the  soul.  A  gloomy,  splenetic  person  falls 
habitually  into  a  grouty  tone,  while  a  joyous  temperament 
shows  itself  in  a  jubilant  quailty  of  voice.  To  produce  the 
best  quality  of  voice,  then,  a  speaker  must  have  a  healthy, 
well-trained,  happy  mind. 

The  quality  of  the  human  voice  is  susceptible  of  variations 
as  manifold  as  the  numerous  states  of  mind  and  heart.  Of 
these  the  most  important  and  representative  are  the  Pure, 
Orotund,  Aspirate,  and  Guttural. 

THE    PURK    TONE 

The  Pure  tone  is  that  which  expresses  the  normal  state  of 
the  well-balanced  mind  and  healthy  body.  It  is  employed 
in  the  expression  of  thought  that  is  unimpassioned  or  is  only 
mildly  emotional,  in  the  speaking  or  reading  of  scientific 
description  and  exposition,  unemotional  narrative,  and 
joyous,  playful,  humorous,  ox  mildly  pathetic  (\\'&zonx%ii.. 

To  produce  the  Pure  tone  allow  no  more  breath  to  escape 
than  can  be  vocalized,  keep  the  muscles  of  the  throat  relaxed, 
and  direct  the  air-column  to  the  front  part  of  the  mouth. 
To  develop  this  tone  practice  the  following  exercises.  In 
practicing  them  keep  your  ears  open ;  see  that  the  tone  is 
not  husky,  trembling,  nasal,  or  throaty.  And  since  you  are 
so  accustomed  to  the  sound  of  your  own  voice  that  you  will 
find  it  difficult  to  judge  it  correctly,  secure,  if  possible,  the 
assistance  of  an  honest  and  competent  teacher. 

I,  Taking  an  easy  pitch,  sing  the  following  in  as  gentle 
and  pure  tone  as  possible :  ob,  6,  e,  i,  la,  ah,  ing. 

II,  Chant  the  following  on  differer^t  notes  of  the  scale, 
giving  one  line  to  each  note :  * 

"I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river; 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go. 
But  I  go  on  forever. 

*  See  Churchill;  '"Vocal  Culture,"  p.  i. 


\^\\i  INTRODUCTION 

"  1  wiiul  about,  aiul  in  ami  out, 
With  luTi"  a  blossom  sailing, 
And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout, 
And  here  and  there  a  grayling." 

111.  Reaii  tiie  lollowing  selections  thoughtfully  and 
appreciatively.  In  ile\ eloping  the  different  qualities  of  tone, 
do  not  trust  overmuch  to  imitation;  do  not  protluce  the 
tone  simply  from  the  outside.  Think  the  thought  clearly 
and  feci  the  emotion  genuinely.  The  primary  sources  of  a 
good  speaking  tone  are  clearly  conceived  thought  and  genuine 
emotion. 

"  (jrandma  told  me  all  about  it, 
Told  me  so  I  could  not  doubt  it, 
How  she  danced — my  Grandma  danced ! — 

Long  ago. 
How  she  held  her  pretty  head. 
How  her  dainty  skirt  she  spread, 
Turning  out  her  little  toes; 
How  she  slowly  leaned  and  rose — 

Long  ago. 

"Grandma's  hair  was  bright  and  sunny; 
Dimpled  cheeks,  too — ah,  how  funny! 
Really  quite  a  pretty  girl, 

Long  ago. 
Bless  her!   why,  she  wears  a  cap, 
Grandma  does,  and  takes  a  nap 
Every  single  day;  and  yet 
Grandma  danced  the  minuet 
Long  ago. 

"Now  she  sits  there,  rocking,  rocking 
Always  knitting  Grandpa's  stocking— 
(Every  girl  was  taught  to  knit 
Long  ago). 


QUALITY  xxxvu 

Yet  her  figure  is  so  neat, 
And  her  ways  so  staid  and  sweet, 
I  can  almost  see  her  now 
Bending  to  her  partner's  bow, 
Long  ago. 
From  Mary  Mapp:s  Dodge's  "  The  Minuet." 


"  Then  said  Damfreville,  '  INIy  friend, 
I  must  speak  out  at  the  end, 
Though  1  find  the  speaking  hard. 
Praise  is  deeper  than  the  lips : 
You  have  saved  the  King  his  ships, 
You  must  name  your  own  reward. 
'Faith,  our  sun  was  near  eclipsed! 
Demand  whate'er  you  will, 
France  remains  your  debtor  still. 
Ask  to  heart's  content  and  have!   or 
]\Iy  name's  not  Damfreville.' 

Then  a  beam  of  fun  outbroke 

On  the  bearded  mouth  that  spoke. 

As  the  honest  heart  laughed  through 

Those  frank  eyes  of  Breton  blue: 

'  Since  I  needs  must  say  my  say, 

Since  on  board  the  duty's  done, 

And  from  Malo  Roads  to  Croisic 

Point,  what  is  it  but  a  run  ? — 

Since  'tis  ask  and  have,  I  may — 

Since  the  others  go  ashore — 

Come!     A  good  whole  holiday! 

Leave  to  go  and  see  my  wife,  whom 

I  call  the  Belle  Aurore!  ' 

That  he  asked  and  that  he  got, — 

Nothing  more."  See  page  192. 


^\^viii  INTROni'CriON 

"  It  was  his  greatest  j>riilc  in  life  tliat  lie  hail  been  a 
soldier, — a  soldier  of  the  Kmpire.  He  was  known  simply 
as  "  The  Soldier  '".  ;uui  it  is  probable  there  was  not  a  man, 
and  certain  that  there  was  not  a  child,  in  the  Quarter  who 
did  not  know  the  tall,  erect  oKl  Scrji^eant  with  his  white 
mustache,  ami  his  face  seamed  with  two  saber-cuts. 

"  Yes,  they  all  knew  him,  and  knew  how,  when  he  was  not 
over  thirteen,  he  hail  received  the  cross  which  he  always  wore 
over  his  heart,  sewed  in  the  bnast  of  his  coat,  from  tiie  hand 
of  the  Kmperor  himself.  "  See  i>;it;e  ioq. 

"  So    you    bcj?    for    a    story,    my    darling,    my    brown-eyed 

Leopold, 
And  you,  Alice,  with  face  like  morning,  and  curling  locks 

of  gold ; 
Then  come,    if  you   will,    and  listen — stand  close   beside 

my  knee — 
To  a  tale   of  the  Southern  city,  proud  Charleston  by  the 

sea. 

"  It  was  long  ago,  my  children,  ere  ever  the  signal-gun 
That  blazed  above  P'ort  Sumter  had  wakened  the  North 

as  one; 
Long  ere  the  wondrous  pillar  of  battle-cloud  and  fire 
Had   marked   where  the  unchained  millions  marched   on 

to  their  heart's  desire." 

THE    OROTUND 

The  Orotund  is  the  Pure  tone  enlarged.  It  is  as  free  from 
huskiness,  nasality,  and  impurity  of  every  sort  as  is  the  Pure 
tone.  It  is,  however,  fuller  and  deeper.  When  it  is  pro- 
duced, the  resonance-chambers  are  made  as  large  as  possible, 
the  lungs  being  expanded  and  the  vocal  passage  thrown  wide 
open,  and  the  reenforcing  vibrations  to  a  great  extent  come 
from  the  chest.  Professor  Monroe  *  shows  the  physiological 
differences  between  the  two  tones  as  follows: 

♦Monroe:  "Vocal  and  Physical  Training,"  p.  36.  Cowperthwait 
&  Co.,  Philadelphia. 


QUALITY  xxxix 

In  Pure  Tone.  In  Orotund. 

1.  The  larynx  rises.  i.    The  larynx  is  depressed. 

2.  The  soft  palate  partially      2.    The  soft  palate  is  raised. 

falls. 

3.  The  tongue  is  in  its  nat-     3.    The  back   of  the  tongue  is 

ural  position.  dropped. 

4.  The  vocal  passage  is  nar-     4.    The  vocal   passage  is  wide. 

row. 

5.  The    air-column     is    di-      5.    The  air-column  is  directed 

rected  to  the  front  part  (in  learning)  vertically, 

of  the  mouth. 

This  full,  deep  tone  is  expressive  of  deep  feeling,  of 
thoughts  and  emotions  that  are  courageous,  patriotic,  reverent, 
solenvi,  dignified,  vast,  lofty,  gra7id,  noble,  sublime. 

Practice  reading  the  following  selections.  By  paraphras- 
ing the  expression,  and  studying  the  details,  and  dwelling 
upon  the  thought,  see  the  picture  clearly,  apprehend  the 
thought  firmly,  and  feel  the  emotion  genuinely;  for  it  is 
only  by  so  doing  that  you  can  secure  a  tone  that  is  truly  ex- 
pressive, that  is  more  than  "sounding  brass  and  tinkling 
cymbal  ".  In  reading  Byron's  "  Apostrophe  ",  for  example, 
let  the  mind  and  imagination  govern  the  voice.  Imagine 
yourself  standing  upon  the  shore,  looking  out  over  the  vast 
expanse  of  water,  as  -t  heaves  and  rolls  before  you. 

"  Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark-blue  ocean,  roll! 
Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain; 
Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin, — his  control 
Stops  with  the  shore :  upon  the  watery  plain 
The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 
A  shadow  of  man's  ravage,  save  his  own, 
When  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain, 
He  sinks  into  thy  depths  with  bubbling  groan, 
Without  a  grave,  unknell'd,  uncoflin'd,  and  unknown." 
From  Byron's   "  Apostrophe  to  tlie  Ocean," 


xi  INTRODL/CriON 

'  'Ami  DiKx:  again, — 
Hear  me,  ye  walls,  tiiat  cchoiil  ti>  the  tnai! 
Of  citlicr  Brutus  I     Once  again,  I  swear 
The  eternal  city  shall  be  free;  her  sons 
Shall  walk  with  ])rinces.  " 

From  MirrnuM's  ••  Kicn/i  to  the  K(mi;iiis." 

X(i  royal  governor,  indeed,  sits  in  yon  stately  capitol, 
no  hostile  fleet  for  many  a  year  has  vexed  the  waters  of  our 
coasts,  nor  is  any  army  but  our  own  likely  to  tread  our  soil. 
Not  such  arc.  our  enemies  to-day.  They  do  not  come 
proudly  stepping  to  the  drum-beat  with  bayonets  na>hing  in 
the  morning  sun.  But  wherever  party  spirit  shall  strain  the 
ancient  guarantees  of  freedom;  or  bigotry  and  ignorance  shall 
lay  their  fatal  hands  upon  education  ;  or  the  arrogance  of 
caste  shall  strike  at  equal  rights;  or  corruption  shall  poison 
the  very  springs  of  national  life — there,  minute- men  of 
liberty,  are  your  Lexington  Green  and  Concord  Bridge;  and 
as  you  love  your  country  and  your  kind,  and  would  have 
your  children  rise  up  and  call  you  blessed,  spare  not  the 
enemy!  Over  the  hills,  out  of  the  earth,  down  from  the 
clouds,  pour  in  resistless  might.  Fire  from  every  rock  and 
tree,  from  door  and  window,  from  hearthstone  and  chamber; 
hang  upon  his  flank  and  rear  from  noon  to  sunset,  and  so, 
through  a  land  blazing  with  holy  indignation,  hurl  the  hordes 
of  ignorance  and  corruption  and  injustice  back,  back,  in 
utter  defeat  and  ruin." 

From  G.  \V.  Clrtis's  '•  Minute  Men  of  '76." 

"  Sons  of  New  England,  look  not  down,  it  is  full  of  deadly 
peril.  Stand  on  the  watch-towers  of  civilization,  and  cease- 
lessly crv'  out  to  the  people,  '  Oh,  look  not  down !  '  Sons 
of  Xew  England,  in  pulpit,  at  teacher's  desk,  in  professors' 
chairs,  in  the  halls  of  Congress,  on  the  bench,  in  the  count- 
ing-room, in  the  shop,  by  the  loom,  on  the  farm,  wherever 
you  may  be,  at  home  or  abroad,  in  the  name  of  your  fathers' 


QUALITY  xli 

&od,  for  the  sake  of  the  precious  Republic,  cry  out  to  the 
people,  '  Look  up,  look  up!  '  and  looking  up  they  will  ever 
see  they  are  bearing  a  Republic,  founded  in  justice,  liberty, 
and  equal  rights.  Seeing  and  remembering,  they  will  have 
God's  help  and  our  country  shall  be  saved. "        See  page  7. 

"  Mr.  President,  ours  is  the  one  great  nation  of  this  con- 
tinent; Mother  of  Republics,  her  lullaby  has  been  sung  over 
every  cradle  of  liberty  in  the  New  World.  Under  the 
inspiration  of  her  glorious  example,  the  last  throne  has  dis- 
appeared from  the  Western  Hemisphere,  and  the  Old  World's 
dominion  over  American  territory  and  American  affairs  will 
not  outlast  the  morning  of  the  twentieth  century." 

See  page  66. 

"  Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul:  and  all  that  is  within  me, 
bless  his  holy  name.  Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul,  and  forget 
not  all  his  benefits:  who  forgiveth  all  thine  iniquities;  who 
healeth  all  thy  diseases;  who  redeemeth  thy  life  from 
destruction;  who  crowneth  thee  with  loving  kindness  and 
tender  mercies;  who  satisfieth  thy  mouth  with  good  things; 
so  that  thy  youth  is  renewed  like  the  eagle's.   .   .   . 

"The  Lord  has  prepared  his  throne  in  the  heavens;  and 
his  kingdom  ruleth  over  all.  Bless  the  Lord,  ye  his  angels, 
that  excel  in  strength,  that  do  his  commandments,  hearken- 
ing unto  the  voice  of  his  w^ord.  Bless  ye  the  Lord,  all  ye 
his  hosts;  ye  ministers  of  his,  that  do  his  pleasure.  Bless 
the  Lord,  all  his  works  in  all  places  of  his  dominion:  bless 
the  Lord,  O  my  soul."  From  Psalm  cm. 

THE    ASPIRATE    QUALITY 

The  Aspirate  is  a  breathy,  impure  quality;  in  its  produc- 
tion more  breath  being  allowed  to  escape  than  is  vocalized. 
It  varies  all  the  way  from  a  soft  whisper  in  which  no  breath 
is  vocalized  to  a  tone  closely  resembling  the  Pure. 

In  these  various  forms  it  is  expressive  of  many  kinds  of 


xlii  INTRODUCTION 

"suppressed  (eeling  ", — <>f  /ent/t'rrirss,  hush,  quid,  exhaus- 
tion, weariness,  serrecv,  caution,  fear,  ;iml  even  7'ehcmenl 
passion. 

To  aid  in  applying;  this  tone  coirec-tly,  read  the  fdllowing 
selections,  aiming  not  to  repeat  mere  words  but  to  convey 
real  emotion. 

"  Slowly,  painfully,  he  dra<^i;ed  himself  onward — stej)  by 
step  down  the  hill,  inch  by  inch  across  the  ground — to  the 
dt)or  of  the  hospital ;  and  then,  while  dying  eyes  brightened, 
while  tl\ing  men  held  back  their  souls  from  the  eternities  to 
cheer  him,  gasped  out:  '  I  did — but  do — my  duty,  boys — and 
the  dear — old — flag — never  once — touched  tlie  ground.'  " 

Sec  page  222. 

"  Vain — vain — give  o'er!      His  eye 
Glazes  apace.      He  does  not  feel  you  now — 
Stand  back!      I'll  paint  the  death-dew  on  his  brow! 

Gods!   if  he  do  not  die 
But  for  one  moment — one — till  I  eclipse 
Conception  with  the  scorn  of  those  calm  lips! 

"Shivering!      Hark!   he  mutters 
Brokenly  now — that  was  a  difficult  breath — 
Another  }     Wilt  thou  never  come,  O  Death  .? 

Look!   how  his  temple  flutters! 
Is  his  heart  still  ^     Aha!   lift  up  his  head! 
He  shudders — gasps — Jove  help  him! — so — he's  dead.  "• 

From  Willis's  "  Parrhasius." 

"  The  bell!  the  bell  again!  shut  out, 
Shut  out  its  ringing  knell ! 
'  A  fever  dream  .i*  '      Great  God,  my  soul 
Doth  know  tlic  sound  full  well! 
Have  I  not  heard  it  pealing  s1<jw 
Above  me  night  and  day! 
Has  it  not  hung  about  my  neck 
Whene'er  I've  tried  to  pray! 


QUALITY  xHii 

Have  I  not  heard  it?   hear  the  peal! 

Louder  and  louder  yet ! 

I  shall  go  mad!     Shut  out  the  sound! 

O  God,  could  I  forget! 

And  hark!   it  brings  another  sound, — 

Hush!   sure,  you  heard  it  then, 

The  shrieking  of  the  helpless  throng, 

The  groans  of  dying  men — 

The  curses!   hear  ihem!  "  See  page  9. 


THE    GUTTURAL    QUALITY 

The  Guttural  like  the  Aspirate  is  an  impure  quality.  In 
the  production  of  this  harsh,  throaty  tone,  the  voice-organs 
are  not  allowed  free  play  as  they  are  in  the  production  of  the 
Pure  tone;  they  are  held  rigid,  the  muscles  of  the  throat 
being  contracted. 

As  these  physiological  conditions  suggest,  this  tone  is 
expressive  of  harsh,  fierce,  savage,  malignant  emotions, — of 
petulance,  irriiaiion,  disgus/,  malevolence,  contempt,  scorn,  and 
revenge.  This  tone  is  easily  acquired  and  should  be  used 
sparingly,  for  when  used  too  frequently  it  is  especially  dis- 
agreeable. 

To  aid  in  understanding  the  use  of  this  tone,  practice  the 
expression  of  the  following  selections : 

"  Now,  bring  forth  your  tortures!  Slaves!  while  you  tear 
this  quivering  flesh,  remember  how  often  Regulus  has  beaten 
your  armies  and  humbled  your  pride.  Cut  as  he  would  have 
carved  you!     Burn  deep  as  his  curse!  " 

From  Kellogg's  "  Regulus  to  the  Carthaginians." 

"  Who  brands  me  on  the  forehead,  breaks  my  sword, 
Or  lays  the  bloody  scourge  upon  my  back, 
Wrongs  me  not  half  so  much  as  he  who  shuts 
The  gates  of  honor  on  me, — turning  out 


xliv  INTROnrCTlOK 

Vhv  l\i>in;iii  from  liis  hirtlirij^lit  ;   ;iiui  fur  what  ? 
To  lling  your  nfliccs  to  every  slave! 
N'ipers,  tliat  creep  where  men  disdain  to  climb, 
And,  havinj;  wduiuI  tlu-ir  loathsome  track  to  the  top 
Of  this  huge,  mouldering  monument  of  Rome, 
Hang  hissing  at  the  nobler  man  below.    .    .    . 

''  But  now  my  sword's  my  own.      Smile  on,  my  Lords! 
I  scorn  to  count  what  feelings,  withered  hopes. 
Strong  provocations,  bitter,  burning  wrongs, 
I  have  within  my  heart's  hot  cells  shut  up. 
To  leave  you  in  your  lazy  dignities. 
But  here  I  stand  and  scoff  you!   here  T  fling 
Hatred  and  full  defiance  in  your  face! 
Your  Consul's  merciful; — for  this,  all  tlianks. 
He  dares  not  touch  a  hair  of  Catiline!  " 

From  Croly's  "Catiline's  Defiance." 

"  Envoys  of  Rome,  the  poor  camp  of  Spartacus  is  too 
much  honored  by  your  presence.  And  does  Rome  stoop  to 
parley  with  the  escaped  gladiator,  with  the  rebel  ruflian,  for 
whom  heretofore  no  slight  has  been  too  scornful  ?  You  have 
come,  with  steel  in  your  right  hand,  and  with  gold  in  your 
left.  What  heed  we  give  the  former,  ask  Cossinius;  ask 
Claudius;  ask  Yarinius;  ask  the  bones  of  your  legions  that 
fertilize  the  Lucanian  plains.  And  for  your  gold — would  ye 
know  what  we  do  with  //laf, — go  ask  the  laborer,  the  trodden 
poor,  the  helpless  and  the  hopeless,  on  our  route;  ask  all 
whom  Roman  tyranny  had  crushed,  or  Roman  avarice 
plundered."  See  page  156. 

"I  raised  the  dying  youth  tenderly  in  my  arms.  O,  tlie 
magnanimity  of  Rome!  Your  haughty  leaders,  enraged  at 
being  cheated  of  their  death-show,  hissed  their  disappoint- 
ment, and  shouted,  '  Kill!  '  "  See  page  157. 


QUALITY  xlv 

"And  the  praetor  drew  back  as  if  I  were  pollution,  and 
sternly  said,  '  Let  the  carrion  rot !  There  are  no  noble  men 
but  Romans.'  And  so,  fellow  gladiators,  must  you,  and  so 
must  I,  die  like  dogs.  "  See  page  301. 


THE    FALSETTO    AND    THE    NASAL 

Besides  these  four  qualities  two  others  should  be  men- 
tioned, principally  that  they  may  be  avoided, — the  Falsetto 
and  the  Nasal.  The  Falsetto  is  a  shrill,  artificial  tone,  of  a 
pitch  above  the  natural  register.  It  is  often  called  a  head 
tone,  since  its  resonance  is  in  the  upper  part  of  the  pharynx. 
The  Nasal,  an  impure  twanging  quality,  is  caused  by 
obstruction  in  the  nostrils  or  by  a  wrong  management  of  the 
soft  palate.  The  legitimate  use  of  these  tones  is  rare.  The 
Falsetto  is  sometimes  used  in  impersonating  old  age  or  in 
expressing  great  excitement,  and  the  Nasal  is  used  in  express- 
ing drollery  and  laziness,  but  in  general  the  Falsetto  is  either 
ridiculous  or  tiresome,  and  the  Nasal  especially  repulsive. 

In  remedying  the  latter  a  speaker  needs  to  train  his  ear 
that  he  may  be  able  to  tell  a  pure  from  a  nasal  tone.  Here 
a  teacher  will  be  of  great  service  to  a  speaker,  both  in  telling 
him  when  his  tone  is  nasal,  and  in  speaking  a  pure  tone  for 
him  to  imitate.  Secondly,  in  remedying  this  defect,  a 
speaker  should  strengthen  the  muscles  of  the  soft  palate. 
This  may  be  done  and  a  "  perception  of  the  denasalizing 
action  of  the  soft  palate  "  gained  by  the  following  exercise: 

"  Sound  the  consonants  m  b  without  separating  the  lips, 
as  in  pronouncing  the  word  '  ember'.  The  change  from  m 
to  b  is  nothing  more  than  the  covering  of  the  nasal  aperture 
by  the  soft  palate;  and  the  change  from  b  to  m,  without 
separating  the  lips,  as  in  the  word  '  submit ',  is  merely  the 
uncovering  of  the  nasal  aperture."  * 

*A.  M.  Bell:  "The  Faults  of  SpeecJv"  p.  31.  F.rlgar  S,  Werner, 
NcTV  Vwk, 


xlvi  INTRODUCTION 

lastly,  a  speaker  .shouKl  keep  thu  nostrils  as  hcalthly  as 
possible.  The  Nasal  tone  is  often  the  result  of  mouth- 
breathinj?  and  catarrh.  The  nostrils  may  be  kept  t)pen  and 
healthy  by  the  aiil  of  the  breathing  exercises,  especially  the 
humming  exercise  on  page  xi. 


forcp: 

Force,  as  far  as  it  concerns  a  speaker,  is  the  power  or 
strength  exerted  in  the  production  of  speech.  The  intensity 
of  the  force  employed  depends  upon  the  physical  condition 
of  the  speaker,  liis  natural  strength  of  voice,  upon  the 
thought  or  emotion  expressed,  and  upon  the  size  of  the 
audience  to  which  lie  is  speaking.  A  frequent  result  of  the 
employment  of  force  in  speaking  is  loudness, — frequent  but 
not  necessary,  for  a  person  may  speak  with  force  and  yet  in 
a  whisper  or  in  a  half-vocalized  tone. 

How  loud  shall  one  speak  .-*  is  a  question  of  importance. 
Look  out  for  the  beginning.  There  is  much  of  practical 
sense  in  the  old  rhyme: 

"  Begin  low. 
Speak  slow; 
Take  fire, 
Rise  higher; 
When  most  impressive 
Be  self-possessive." 

At  first  speak  only  so  loud  as  is  necessary  to  make  all 
your  audience  hear.  Never  go  below  that;  for  a  speech  with 
a  word  or  phrase  dropped  out  of  it  every  few  minutes  is  as 
provoking  as  a  clipped  newspaper.  Make  sure  that  the  man 
in  the  back  part  of  the  hall  hears  you;  but  in  doing  so  do 
not  bawl,  shriek,  or  rant.  Remember  that  correct  breath- 
ing, distinct  articulation,  and  the  knack  of  throwing  your 
voice  out  will  make  your  speech  more  audible  and  more 
agreeable  than  will  mere  shouting.    Never  give  the  impression 


FORCE  xlvii 

that  you  are  doing  your  utmost  all  the  time;  even  in  your  im- 
passioned moments  show  that  you  have  reserve  force;  there 
is  much  power  in  repose. 

The  degrees  of  force  are  manifold.  For  practical  pur- 
poses, however,  we  may  make  four  divisions — Subdued, 
Moderate,  Declamatory,  and  Impassioned.  These  divisions 
vary  with  different  speakers  and  with  the  same  speaker  under 
different  conditions.  What,  for  example,  is  Moderate  for  a 
mature  and  vigorous  speaker  may  be  Impassioned  for  a 
schoolboy,  and  a  tone  Declamatory  in  a  study  may  be 
hardly  more  than  Subdued  in  a  large  auditorium.  Speaking, 
then,  under  these  conditions,  we  may  say  that 

Subdued  force  is  employed  in  the  expression  of  tenderness, 
comfort,  pity,  sympathy,  tranquillity,  quietude,  weariness,  feeble- 
ness, secrecy,  timidity,  indifference. 

Moderate  force  is  employed  in  the  expression  of  didactic 
thought,  unemotional  discourse,  gladness,  joy,  and  nearly  all 
the  milder  emotions. 

Declamatory  force  is  used  in  the  expression  oi patriotism, 
grandeur,  courage,  determination. 

Impassioned  force  is  used  in  the  expression  of  the  strongest, 
most  vehement  and  violent  emotions, — defiance,  anger, 
abhorrence,  horror. 

Exercises 

Speak  the  following  sentences  as  if  addressing  a  person  at 
first  five  feet  from  you,  then  ten,  twenty,  forty,  sixty,  eighty, 
one  hundred,  one  hundred  and  fifty,  two  hundred: 

{a)   Where  are  you  going  .? 

(U)  Ask  John  to  send  me  his  grandfather's  coat. 

\c)  What  boat  is  that  off  the  Point  ?  Is  that  the 
Columbia  .-' 

(</)  "  Once  more  unto  the  breach,  dear  friends,  once  more; 
Or  close  the  wall  up  with  our  English  dead!  " 

{e)   "  On,  on,  you  noble  English, 

Whose  blood  is  fet  from  fathers  of  war-proof.   .   .   . 

Now  attest, 


^iii  i\r/<oi)UL"nos' 

riiat  tliosi-  wIkmii  you  called  fatluTS  did  beget  you: 
lie  copy  now  to  nun  of  grosser  blood, 
And  teach  tluin  how  to  war! 
{/)  "  And  you  good  yeomen, 

Whose  limbs  were  made  in  England,  show  us  here 
The  mettle  of  your  pasture;  let  us  swear 
That  you  are  worth  your  breeding.    .   .   . 
I  see  you  stand  like  greyhounds  in  the  slips, 
Straining  upon  the  start.      The  game's  afoot; 
Follow  your  spirit;   and  upon  this  charge, 
Cry — God  for  Harry!  England  !  and  Saint  George!  " 

Selections  for  Pr.vctice  in  Employing  Different 
Degrees  of  Force 


"  So  tired,  so  tired,  my  heart  and  I! 
It  was  not  thus  in  that  old  time 
When  Ralph  sat  with  me  neath  the  lime 
To  watch  the  sunset  from  the  sky. 
'  Dear  love,  you're  looking  tired,'  he  said; 
I,  smiling  at  him,  shook  my  head : 
'Tis  now  we're  tired,  my  heart  and  I." 

From  Mrs.  Browning's  "My  Heart  and  I." 

"  '  My  son,' — the  aged  father  spoke, — 
'  But  idle  dreams  are  these: 
You  hear  no  bell — there  is  no  sound 
But  wind  among  the  trees. 
See,  here  I  hold  the  crucifix: 
Now  lay  aside  thy  care, 
And  gaze  thou  on  the  holy  cross, 
The  while  I  kneel  in  prayer.'  "  See  page  9, 

MODERATE 

"  The  year's  at  the  spring 
And  day's  at  the  morn; 


FORCE  xlix 

Morning's  at  seven; 
The  hillside's  dew-pearled; 
The  lark's  on  the  wing; 
The  snail's  on  the  thorn; 
God's  in  His  heaven — 
All's  right  with  the  world!  " 

From  Browning's  "Pippa  Passes." 

"  Dimple-cheeked  and  rosy-lipped. 
With  his  cap-brim  backward  tipped, 
Still  in  fancy  I  can  see 
Little  Tommy  smile  on  me — 
Little  Tommy  Smith. 

"Little  unsung  Tommy  Smith — 
Scarce  a  name  to  rhyme  it  with; 
Yet  most  tenderly  to  me 
Something  sings  unceasingly — 
Little  Tommy  Smith." 

From  Rii.EV's  -'Little  Tommy  Smith." 

"  A  little  watchfulness  over  ourselves  will  save  us  a  great 
deal  of  watchfulness  over  others,  and  will  permit  the  kindliest 
of  religions  to  drop  her  inconvenient  and  unseemly  talk  of 
enmity  and  strife,  cuirasses  and  breastplates,  battles  and 
exterminations.  To  produce  as  much  happiness  as  we  can, 
and  to  prevent  as  much  misery,  is  the  proper  aim  and  end 
of  true  morality  and  true  religion.  Only  give  things  their 
right  direction;  there  is  room,  do  but  place  and  train  them 
well."  Epictetus. 

IMPASSIONED 

"  'Be  Still!  ' 
He  shouted  to  the  kneeling  priest, 
*  Stay,  hold  thy  peace!     Be  still! 
Did  he  not  say  "  Be  merciful  ".' 
Did  I  show  mercy  when 
By  mine  own  word  the  very  streets 


I  INTRODUCTION 

Flowed  clown  with  livts  of  men  ? 

Did  I  show  mercy  when  that  wail 

Of  anpfuish  rent  the  air  ? 

Did  I  show  mercy  e'en  to  one 

In  all  that  black  despair?  '  "  See  page  lo. 

"Sir,  when  1  heard  jtrinciples  laid  down  that  place  the 
murderers  of  Alton  side  by  side  with  Otis  and  Hancock, 
with  Quincy  and  Adams,  I  thouc^ht  those  [)icture(l  lij)s  would 
have  broken  into  voice  to  rebuke  that  recreant  American,  the 
slanderer  of  the  dead.  Sir,  for  the  sentiment  he  has  uttered 
on  soil  consecrated  by  the  prayers  of  Puritans  and  the  blood 
of  patriots  the  earth  should  have  yawned  and  swallowed  him 
up  I  See  page  330, 

DECLAMATORY 

"  He  would  have  seen  his  great  arguments  in  the  reply  to 
Hayne,  in  the  debates  with  Calhoun,  inspiring,  guiding, 
commanding,  strengthening.  The  judge  in  the  court  is 
citing  them.  The  orator  in  the  Senate  is  repeating  them. 
The  soldier  by  the  camp-fire  is  meditating  them.  Tlie  Union 
cannon  is  shotted  with  them.  They  are  flashing  from  the 
muzzle  of  the  rifle.  They  are  gleaming  in  the  stroke  of  the 
saber.  They  are  heard  in  the  roar  of  the  artillery.  They 
shine  on  the  advancing  banner.  They  mingle  with  the 
shouts  of  victory.  They  conquer  in  the  surrender  of  Appo- 
mattox. They  abide  forever  and  forever  in  the  returning 
reason  of  an  estranged  section  and  the  returning  loyalty  of  a 
united  people. "  See  page  91. 

Force  compelled  the  signature  of  unwilling  royalty  to 
the  Magna  Charta;  force  put  life  into  the  Declaration  of 
Independence  and  made  effective  the  Emancipation  Procla- 
mation ;  force  beat  with  naked  hands  upon  the  iron  gateway 
of  the  Bastile  and  made  reprisal  in  one  awful  hour  for  cen- 
turies of  kingly  crime;  force  waved  the  flag  of  revolution 
over  Bunker  Hill  and  marked  the  snows  of  Valley  Forge  with 


PITCH  li 

blood-stained  feet;  force  held  the  broken  Hne  at  Shiloh, 
climbed  the  flame-swept  hill  at  Chattanooga,  and  stormed 
the  clouds  on  Lookout  heights;  force  marched  with  Sherman 
to  the  sea,  rode  with  Sheridan  in  the  valley  of  the  Shenan- 
doah, and  gave  Grant  victory  at  Appomattox;  force  saved 
the  Union,  kept  the  stars  in  the  flag,  made  '  niggers  '  men. 
The  time  for  God's  force  has  come  again."         See  page  30. 

PITCH 

The  Pitch  of  a  sound  is  its  place  upon  the  musical  scale. 
It  must  not  be  confused  with  loudness  or  with  quality. 
Loudness  depends  upon  the  force  with  which  the  voice  is 
sent  from  the  larynx;  quality  upon  the  size,  shape,  and  con- 
dition of  the  resonance-chambers  and  vocal  cords;  but  pitch 
depends  upon  the  rapidity  with  which  the  vocal  cords 
vibrate.  Therefore,  although  high  pitch  and  loudness  are 
generally  associated,  a  sound  may  be  "subdued"  and  far 
up  on  the  scale  or  loud  and  well  down  among  the  lower 
notes. 

DEGREES    OF    PITCH 

Although  the  degrees  of  pitch  are  numerous,  for  purposes 
of  clearness  we  may  divide  the  range  in  pitch  of  the  speaking 
voice  into  five  parts, — Low,  Very  Low,  Middle,  High,  and 
Very  High.  These  divisions  are  of  course  relative;  women  as 
a  general  thing  speaking  at  a  higher  pitch  than  men ;  and  the 
middle,  normal,  voice  of  one  man  being  lower  or  higher  than 
that  of  another.  The  dominant  tone  of  the  middle  voice  of 
men  is  on  an  average  about  D  on  the  bass  staff,  while  that 
of  women  is  nearly  an  octave  higher.  The  range  of  the 
average  speaking  voice  is  about  an  octave  and  a  half.  Of 
this  the  Very  Low  degree  compasses  two  notes,  the  Low  two, 
the  Middle  four,  the  High  two,  and  the  Very  High  two. 

The  Middle  Degree  of  Pitch  appeals  primarily  to  the  in- 
tellect. Since  the  greater  part  of  what  we  say  is  unemotional 
or  is  touched  if  at  all  with  only  the  calmer  emotions,  this 


Hi  INTRODUCTION 

tlcgrco  o(  pilch  is  used  by  far  the  iimst ;  hence  tlu-  iiiiiiortiiiicc 
of  cultivating  a  good  middle  voice* 

The  Low  and  tlie  \'cr\  Low  express  sentiments  that  arc 
serious,  solemn,  gloomy,  pathetic,  discouraging,  despairing, 
horrible,  sublime,  emotion  "  intense  but  controlled" . 

Tlie  lligli  Degrees  express  y«)',  brightness,  gayety,  ecstasy, 
intensity,  astonishment,  pain,  year,  emotimi  "acute  and  un- 
Citnt rolled  ' ' . 

Thoughtful  ami  a])i)reciative  reatling  of  the  following 
selections  will  afford  j)ractice  in  securing  the  different  degrees 
of  pitch. 

Mddle  Pitch 

"  '  What  is  it,  Lillo  ?  '  said  Romola,  ])ulling  his  hair  back 
from  his  brow.    .    .    . 

"'Mamma  Romola,  what  am  I  to  be?'  he  said,  w-ell 
contented  that  there  was  a  prospect  of  talking  till  it  would 
be  too  late  to  con  *  Spirto  gentil  '  any  longer. 

"  '  What  should  you  like  to  be,  Lillo  ?  .   .    ,' 

"  '  I  should  like  to  be  something  that  would  make  mo  a 
great  man,  and  very  happy  besides — something  that  would 
not  hinder  me  from  having  a  good  deal  of  pleasure.' 

"  '  That  is  not  easy,  my  Lillo.  It  is  only  a  poor  sort  of 
happiness  that  could  ever  come  by  caring  very  much  about 
our  own  narrow  pleasures.  We  can  only  have  the  highest 
happiness,  such  as  goes  along  with  being  a  great  man,  by 
having  wide  thoughts,  and  much  feeling  for  the  rest  of  the 
world  as  well  as  ourselves;  and  this  sort  of  happiness  often 
brings  so  much  pain  with  it  that  we  can  only  tell  it  from 
pain  by  its  being  what  we  would  choose  before  everything 
else,  because  our  souls  .see  it  is  good.  There  are  so  many 
things  wrong  and  difTicult  in  the  world  that  no  man  can  be 
grezt — he  can  hardly  keep  himself  from  wickedness — unless 

*  This  suggestion  may  possibly  be  found  valuable  to  teacliers.  Too 
many  in  the  classroom,  in  their  desire  to  make  plain,  use  predominantly 
the  high  degree  of  pitch  rather  than  the  middle. 


ptrcH  liii 

he  gives  up  thinking  much  about  pleasure  or  reward?,  and 
gets  strength  to  endure  what  is  hard  and  painfuL '  " 

Yrom  George  Eliot's  "Romola." 

"  Eastward  of  Zanesville,  two  or  three 

Miles  from  the  town,  as  our  stage  drove  in, 
I  on  the  driver's  seat,  and  he 
Pointing  out  this  and  that  to  me, — 
On  beyond  us — among  the  rest — 
A  grovey  slope,  and  a  fluttering  throng 
Of  little  children,  which  he  '  guessed  ' 
Was  a  picnic,  as  we  caught  their  thin 
High  laughter,  as  we  drove  along, 
Clearer  and  clearer.     Then  suddenly 
He  turned  and  asked,  with  a  curious  grin. 
What  were  my  views  on  Slavery  P     '  Whyp  ' 
I  asked,  in  return,  with  a  wary  eye." 

See  page  234. 

Low  and  J'erj'  Low 

"  Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  dwelling-place  in  all  genera- 
tions. 

"  Before  the  mountains  were  brought  forth,  or  ever  thou 
hadst  formed  the  earth  and  the  world,  even  from  everlasting 
to  everlasting,  thou  art  God. 

"Thou  turnest  man  to  destruction;  and  sayest,  Return, 
ye  children  of  men. 

"  For  a  thousand  years  in  thy  sight  are  but  as  yesterday 
when  it  is  past,  and  as  a  watch  in  the  night.    .    .    . 

"  Return,  O  Lord,  how  long  ?  and  let  it  repent  thee  con- 
cerning thy  servants. 

"  O  satisfy  us  early  with  thy  mercy;  that  we  may  rejoice 
and  be  glad  all  our  days. 

"  INIake  us  glad  according  to  the  days  wherein  thou  hast 
afflicted  us,  and  the  years  wherein  we  have  seen  evil. 

"  Let  thy  works  appear  unto  thy  servants,  and  thy  glory 
unto  thy  children. 


liv  INTHODUCllOS 

"  Aiul  lit  tlu-  lii'unty  of  tlir  l.onl  inir  Goii  be  ujion  us: 
aiul  ostablisli  thou  the  work  of  our  IkiiuIs  upon  us;  yea,  the 
work  of  our  liaiuls  establish  thou  it.  "  Irum  Psalm  xc. 

"  We  see  them  ])art  with  tliose  they  love.  Some  are  walk- 
ing for  tile  last  time  in  quiet,  woody  places,  with  the  maidens 
they  adore.  We  hear  the  whisperings  and  the  sweet  vows 
of  eternal  love  as  they  lingeringly  part  forever.  Others  are 
bending  over  cradles,  kissing  babes  that  are  asleep.  Some 
are  receiving  the  blessings  of  old  men.  Some  are  parting 
with  mothers  who  hold  them  and  press  them  to  their  hearts 
again  and  again,  and  say  nothing.  Kisses  and  tears,  tears 
and  kisses — divine  mingling  of  agony  and  love!  And  some 
arc  talking  with  wives,  and  endeavoring  with  brave  words, 
spoken  in  the  old  tones,  to  drive  from  their  hearts  the  awful 
fear.  We  see  them  part.  We  see  the  wife  standing  in  the 
door  with  the  babe  in  her  arms — standing  in  the  sunlight 
sobbing.  At  the  turn  of  the  road  a  hand  waves — she  an.swers 
by  holding  high  in  her  loving  arms  the  child.  He  is  gone 
and  forever.   .   .    . 

"  We  are  at  home  when  tlie  news  comes  that  they  are 
dead.  We  see  the  maiilen  in  the  shadow  of  her  first  sorrow. 
We  see  the  silvered  head  of  the  old  man  bowed  with  the  last 
grief."  See  page  326. 

"  Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and  low, 
Wind  of  the  western  sea. 
Low.  low,  breathe  and  blow, 
Wind  of  the  western  sea  I 
Over  the  rolling  waters  go, 
Come  from  the  dying  moon,  and  blow, 
Blow  him  again  to  me; 
While  my  little  one,  while  my  i)retty  one,  sleeps. 

"  Sleep  and  rest,  sleep  and  rest, 
Father  will  come  to  thee  soon; 
Rest,  rest,  on  mother's  breast. 
Father  will  come  to  thee  soon; 


PITCH  Iv 

Father  will  come  to  his  babe  in  the  nest, 

Silver  sails  all  out  of  the  west 

Under  the  silver  moon: 

Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep,  my  pretty  one,  sleep." 

From  Tennyson's  "  The  Princess." 

High 

"  Hurrah!   hurrah!   a  single  field  hath  turned  the  chance  of 
war. 
Hurrah!   hurrah!   for  Ivry  and  King  Henry  of  Navarre!  " 
From  Macaulav's  "  The  Battle  uf  Ivry." 

"  Haste  thee,  nymph,  and  bring  with  thee 
Jest  and  youthful  Jollity, 
Quips,  and  cranks,  and  wanton  wiles. 
Nods,  and  becks,  and  wreathed  smiles 
Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek. 
And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek; 
Sport,  that  wrinkled  Care  derides. 
And  Laughter,  holding  both  his  sides. 
Come,  and  trip  it  as  ye  go 
On  the  light  fantastic  toe." 

From  Milton's  "L'Allegro." 

"  I  come  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern, 
I  make  a  sudden  sally, 
And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern. 
To  bicker  down  a  valley. 

"  By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  down. 
Or  slip  between  the  ridges; 
By  twenty  thorps,  a  little  town, 
And  half  a  hundred  bridges. 

"  I  chatter  over  stony  ways, 
In  little  sharps  and  trebles, 
1  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 
1  babble  on  the  pebbles. 


Ivi  iMTKoiyi  crioN 

"  With  many  a  curve  my  hanks  I  frit, 
By  many  a  lickl  and  fallow, 
And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 
^^'ith  willow-weed  and  mallow. 

"  i  chatter,  chatter,  as  1  How 
To  join  the  hrimniinj::  river; 
l'"or  men  may  come  and  men  may  j^o, 
l^ut  I  go  on  forever. 

"  1  wind  al)Out,  and  in  and  out, 
\\"nh  here  a  blossom  sailing. 
And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout, 
And  here  and  there  a  grayling. 

"  And  here  and  tlierc  a  foamy  Hake, 
Upon  me,  as  I  travel. 
With  many  a  silvery  water-break 
Above  the  golden  gravel. 

"  I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots, 
1  slide  by  hazel  covers, 
I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nots 
That  grow  for  happy  lovers. 

"  I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance, 
Among  my  skimming  swallows; 
I  make  the  netted  sunbeam  dance 
Against  my  sandy  shallows. 

"  I  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 
In  brambly  wildernesses, 
I  linger  by  my  shingly  bars, 
I  loiter  round  my  cresses. 

"  And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow- 
To  join  the  brimming  river; 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
But  1  go  on  forever. 

Tennyson's  "Tlic  iJnjo 


PITCH  Ivii 

Inflection 

In  reading  the  preceding  selections  there  is  a  change  of 
pitch  not  only  in  turning  from  "  The  Brook  "  to  "A  Vision 
of  War  ",  but  also  in  passing  from  word  to  word  and  syllable 
to  syllable.  Moreover  there  is  always  in  this  change  a  slight 
pause;  one  sound  is  made  and  then,  a  pause  intervening, 
we  pass  to  the  next  one.  When  a  change  of  pitch  is  made 
in  this  way,  by  a  skip,  it  is  called  Discrete.  There  is,  how- 
ever, a  change  of  pitch  in  the  pronunciation  of  a  single 
syllable.  In  pronouncing  "Oh",  for  example,  the  voice 
may  begin  low  and  rise  in  pitch,  or  begin  high  and  descend. 
This  change  on  a  single  syllable  is  called  Concrete  or  Inflec- 
tion. This  change,  however,  is  not  by  a  skip  but  by  a  glide. 
The  difference  between  these  two  changes  has  been  well 
illustrated  by  comparing  the  music  of  a  piano  with  that  of  a 
violin.  In  playing  the  piano  the  musician  strikes  first  one 
note  and  then  skips  to  another;  but  in  playing  the  violin  he 
may  draw  the  bow  across  one  of  the  strings,  at  the  same  time 
moving  the  stop-finger  that  he  has  upon  it  up  and  down,  so 
that  one  note  glides  into  another.  There  is  the  same  differ- 
ence between  song  and  speech.  A  song  note  while  it  lasts 
remains  upon  one  pitch;  a  speech  note  always  changes  in 
pitch. 

Changes  in  speech  notes,  or  inflection,  may  be  rising,  fall- 
ing, or  circumflex,  gradual  or  abrupt,  long  or  short. 

In  rising  inflection  {f)  the  voice,  in  pronouncing  a  single 
syllable,  glides  upward;  in  falling  (""),  downward;  in  simple 
circumflex  C^ ),  upward  and  then  downward  or  (v)  down- 
ward and  then  upward ;  in  double  circumflex  there  are 
various  combinations  of  the  upward  and  downward  glides. 
The  voice  generally  prepares  for  these  different  glides  by 
striking  a  pitch  above  the  dominant  pitch  of  the  sentence 
when  the  falling  inflection  is  used;  when  the  rising,  a  little 
below. 

\ X ^^ 


Iviii  INTRODUCTION 

In  (.Klicatc  elKingc's  of  j)itcli,  citluT  discrete  or  concrete, 
may  lie  the  secret  of  a  speaker's  power  to  convince,  j)ersuadc, 
and  charm. 

To  have  the  proper  control  of  pitch,  to  make  it  the 
obedient  liandniaid  of  expression,  the  following  recpiisites 
arc  demanded:  ability  to  comprehend  the  relation  of  one 
thought  to  another  so  as  to  distinguish  the  j)rincij)al 
from  the  subordinate,  quickness  to  comjirehcnd  the  line 
shades  of  meaning  given  by  the  various  inlleetions,  power  to 
feel  emotion  genuinely,  llexibility  of  voice,  and  nicety  of 
ear. 

To  obtain  these  practice,  assiduous  practice,  is  often 
necessary.  In  distinguishing  one  pitch  from  another,  for 
example,  some  pupils  find  great  difficulty.  For  such  the 
task  is  to  make,  if  possible,  the  dull  ear  acute,  by  striking 
the  different  keys  of  a  piano,  by  practicing  the  musical  scale, 
and  by  reading  selections  that  necessitate  a  change  of  pitch, 
the  ear  being  constantly  kept  on  the  alert  to  distinguish  the 
different  tones.  Flexibility  of  voice  may  be  developed  by 
practice  upon  the  musical  scale,  also  by  the  reading  of  prose 
in  which  there  is  much  dialogue.  Conversation  is  the  pattern 
furnished  us  by  nature.  Often,  to  be  sure,  in  speaking  to 
large  audiences  we  must  expand  the  conversational  form, 
must  raise  it  to  the  second  or  third  power;  and,  moreover, 
into  the  expression  of  that  which  is  solemn,  reverent,  and 
sublime  we  must  not  allow  the  conversational  changes  of 
pitch  to  enter  and  destroy  the  emotion ;  but  at  the  same 
time,  if  we  would  be  natural  in  our  reading  and  speaking, 
conversation  is  the  criterion  by  which  we  must  constantly 
be  measuring  our  expression.  If  we  depart  too  far  from  that, 
we  are  certain  to  become  insincere,  stilted,  monotonous,  and 
unnatural. 

Although  the  many  minute  rules  often  given  for  keeping 
the  voice  up  and  letting  it  fall  are  of  small  value,  the  follow- 
ing general  principles  may  be  found  of  use  in  gaining  the 
power  to  inflect  correctly. 


PITCH  lix 

T.  The  thought  and  the  emotion  to  he  expressed,  the  state 
of  the  speaker'' s  mind  and  heart,  not  the  form  of  the  sentence, 
determine  the  direction,  degree,  and  rapidity  of  tnjlcctioti . 

"  If  I  meet  a  man,  but  am  not  sure  I  know  him,  I  may- 
say,  '  This  is  Mr.  Smith  ?  '  I  look  into  his  face,  and  indicate 
my  doubt  by  a  rising  inflection;  but  when  I  introduce  him 
to  another  man,  and  say,  '  This  is  Mr.  Smith  ',  stating  a 
definite  fact  of  which  I  am  positive,  a  falling  inflection  is 
heard.  Phraseology  manifests  simply  the  grammatical  rela- 
tions of  words;  inflection  manifests  more  the  logical  relation 
of  ideas.  Hence,  inflection  has  to  do  with  the  attitude  of 
the  mind,  its  degree  of  certainty,  its  relation  to  another  mind, 
and  has  nothing  to  do  with  phraseology."  * 

II.  Strong,  violent,  uncontrolled  emotion  requires  for  its 
expression  inflections  that  are  abrupt  and  of  great  variation ; 
in  the  expression  of  such  passion  the  voice  will  sometimes  range 
through  a  whole  octave  on  a  single  syllable.  But  calmness, 
grandeur,  reverence,  are  expressed  with  gradual  and  slight 
variations  of  pitch. 

"  '  Who  dares  ' — this  was  the  patriot's  cry, 
As  striding  from  the  desk  he  came — 
'  Come  out  with  me,  in  Freedom's  name, 
For  her  to  live,  for  her  to  die  .^ ' 
A  hundred  hands  flung  up  reply, 
A  hundred  voices  answered,  '  I!  '  " 

From  Read's  "  Revolutionary  Rising." 

"  Give  us  the  devotion  of  the  young  enthusiast  of  Paris, 
who,  listening  to  Mirabeau  in  one  of  his  surpassing  vindica- 
tions of  human  rights,  and  seeing  him  fall  from  his  stand, 
dying,  as  a  physician  proclaimed,  for  the  want  of  blood, 
rushed  to  the  spot  and,  as  he  bent  over  the  expiring  man, 
bared  his  arm  for  the  lancet,  and  cried  again  and  again,  with 

*  Curry:  "Lessons  in  Vocal  Expression,"  p.  173.  The  Expression 
Company,  Boston. 


Ix  i\'n<c)nrcrio.w 

impassioncil  voice:  '  litre,  lake  it — oh  I  take  it  fioiii  nic! 
Ut  me  die,  so  that  Mirabeaii  ami  the  liberties  of  inv  countrv 
may  not  perish!  '  "  See  page  216. 

RkvKKKNCK     (("iKADfAI.    AND    Sl.ICllT    \'aK  I ATIONS    OK    PiTCh) 

"  Abiiie  with  me:   fast  falls  the  even-tide; 
The  darkness  deepens;    Lord,  witii  me  abide: 
When  other  heljiers  fail,  and  comforts  llec, 
Help  of  the  helpless,  ()  abide  with  me." 

III.  L'nceriainiv,  surprise,  irresolution,  incompleteness,  sus- 
pense, concession,  complaisance,  humbleness,  timidity,  docility, 
entreaty,  appeal  generally  require  /or  their  correct  expression 
the  rising  inflection. 

"  '  I  do  not  know  how  to  beat  a  retreat.  Desaix  never 
taught  me  that.  But  I  can  beat  a  charge.  Oh !  I  can  beat 
a  charge  that  would  make  the  dead  fall  into  line.  I  beat 
that  charge  at  ]\Iount  Tabor,  and  I  beat  it  again  at  the 
bridge  of  Lodi,  and,  oh!   may  I  beat  it  here  }  '  " 

See  page  293. 

"  \\'hen  I  pass  by  the  collective  parties  in  this  case,  and 
recall  the  particular  ones  ;  when  I  see  that  my  own  State  is 
as  deeply  implicated  in  the  trouble  and  the  danger  of  it  as 
any  other,  and  shares  to  the  full,  with  all  of  her  Southern 
colleagues,  in  the  most  painful  apprehensions  of  its  issue  ; 
when  I  see  this,  I  turn  involuntarily,  and  with  unaffecteil 
deference  of  spirit,  and  ask.  What  in  this  exigent  moment  to 
Virginia,  will  Massachusetts  do  .•*  Will  you,  too,  forgetting 
all  the  past,  put  forth  a  hand  to  smite  her  ignominiously 
upon  the  cheek  ?  "  See  page  214. 

"Charles  Sumner  insult  the  soldiers  who  had  spilled  their 
bloofi  in  a  war  for  human  rights  !  Charles  Sumner  degrade 
victories,  and  depreciate  laurels,  won  for  the  cause  of  uni- 
versal freedom  ! — how  strange  an  imputation!"  See  page  72. 


PITCH  1x1 

I\'.  Posih'vcness,  confidence,  self-reliance,  assurance,  de- 
cision, firmness,  conclusiveness,  finality,  generally  require  for 
their  true  expression  Ihe  falling  inflection. 

"There  is  one  broad  propcsilion  upon  which  I  stand. 
It  is  this:  That  an  American  sailor  is  an  American  citizen, 
and  that  no  American  citizen  shall,  with  my  consent,  be 
subjected  to  the  infamous  punishment  of  the  lash." 

See  page  265. 

"  If  you  could  touch  those  bronze  lips  with  the  fire  of 
speech,  what  do  you  think  they  would  say  }  They  never 
said  '  Yield  '  in  their  life!  "  See  page  13. 

\ ,  The  falling  inflection  should  also  be  used  in  the  expression 
of  petulance,  derisioti,  arrogance,  insolence,  hatred,  anger, 
revenge,  rage,  of  feelings  that  are  rough  and  repellant. 

"  And  slavery  in  all  its  ferociousness,  even  on  its  death- 
bed, cried  out:   '  Bury  him  with  his  niggers.'  " 

See  p.ige  14. 

"  At  last  these  mob  yells  came  clanging  through  the  din: 
'  Take  that  back;  take  that  back;  make  him  take  back  that 
word  "recreant";  he  sha'n't  go  on  till  he  has  taken  that 
back !       '  See  page  330. 

\l.  The  circianflex  inflections  are  used  in  the  expression  of 
sarcas7n,  raillery,  and  contempt. 

"Circumflex  inflections  are  always  used,"  says  Mr. 
Southwick,  "  when  we  wish  to  say  something  that  the  words 
themselves  do  not  express.  We  often  say,  '  oh,  yes  '  or  '  oh, 
no  '  when  it  is  clear  that  we  mean  just  the  opposite,  and  this 
meaning  is  conveyed  to  the  listener  by  a  circumflex  inflec- 
tion. "  * 

"  The  sword  dropped  from  my  hands,  i  raised  the  dying 
youth  tenderly  in  my  arms.  O,  the  magnanimitv  of  Rome  ! 
Your    haughty  leaders,    enraged  at  being  cheated    of   their 

*  Southwick:  "Elocution  and  Action,"  p.  79.  Edgar  S.  Werner, 
New  York. 


Ixii  INTRODUCTION 

dr.uh-sliDW.     hisscil     thiir    clisai)pointniciit,    and     shouted, 
Kill  I  '  "  See  page  157. 

"Sir  PiiKR  Vy.A/.i.v..  Very  well,  ma'am,  very  well;  so 
a  husband  is  to  have  no  inlluence,  no  authority  ? 

"  Laoy '1".  Author ih' J  No,  to  be  sure:  if  you  wanteil 
autlioritv  over  nie,  you  should  liave  lu/op/ed  nie,  and  not 
married  me;    1  am  sure  you  were  «/</ enouj^h. 

"  Sir  I\  Old  enough!  ay,  there  it  is!  Well,  well.  Lady 
Teazle,  though  my  life  may  be  matlc  unhapjiy  by  your 
temper,  I  "11  not  be  ruined  by  your  extravaganee. 

"  Lady  T.  Mv  i:\traz\igiuice  /  Lm  sure  Lm  not  more 
extravagant  than  a  woman  ought  to  be." 

l-rom  Siikridkn's    ••  School  for  Scandal." 

^'  O  Upright  Judge  / — Mark,  Jew:^ — (J  learned  Judge  f  .    .    . 

0  learned  Judge  / — Mark,  Jew: — a  learned  Judge/ 
A  second  Daniel,  a  Daniel,  Jeu> ! 

Now,  Infidel,  I  have  thee  on  the  hip.   .    .   . 
A  Daniel,  still  I  say,  a  second  Daniel. 

1  thank  thee,  Jew,  for  teaching  me  that  word." 

Shakespere's  "Merchant  of  Venice,"  Act  IV,  Scene  I. 

Exercises  in  Pitch  and  Inflection 

I.  Sing  the  scale,  ascending  and  descending,  at  different 
rates  of  movement, — "  slow  ",  "  very  slow  ",  "  moderate  ", 
"  fast  ",  and  "  verj'  fast  ". 

II.  Sing  the  first  and  eighth  notes  of  the  scale.  Sing  the 
first,  third,  fifth,  and  eighth  notes;  then  the  eighth,  fifth, 
third,  and  first. 

III.  Chant  the  following  lines,  first  on  the  lowest  note  of 
the  scale,  then  on  the  highest: 

"  He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat. 
And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree!  " 

"  Rejoice,  you  men  of  Angiers,  ring  your  bells; 

King  John,  your  king  and  England's,  doth  approach.  .  .  . 
Open  your  gates,  and  give  the  victors  way." 


PITCH  Ixiii 

IV.  Say  "  yes  ",  giving  it  the  inflection  that  expresses  [a) 
firmness,  [b)  indifference,  (c)  contempt,  {d)  uncertainty,  [e) 
astonishment. 

V.  Say  "And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man"  in  such  a 
way  as  to  express  {a)  surprise,  [b)  indignation,  (c)  sincerity, 
((/)  uncertainty,  [e)  sarcasm. 

VI.  Did  John  find  it  in  the  attic  .? 
What  .?      (What  did  you  say  ?) 
Did  John  find  it  in  the  attic  ? 
What  .?      (Find  what  .?) 

The  purse. 

What!      (I'm  surprised.) 
A  purse  filled  with  gold  dollars. 
What!      (Incredulity.) 
I  believe  James  stole  it  and  hid  it  there. 
What  ?      (Indignation.      My  brother  James  is  honest.) 
They  have  convicted  him  of  treason  .? 
They  have.      (Simple  assertion.) 
They  have  convicted  him  of  treason  .? 
They  have.     (Satisfaction.     He  deserved  to  be  convicted. ) 
Will  they  convict  him  of  treason  .'' 
They  have.      (Contemptuously. ) 
They  have  convicted  him  of  treason. 
They  have  ^      (Surprise. ) 
They  have  convicted  him  of  treason. 
They  have.      (Pity.      Poor  fellow!      He  is  innocent. ) 
They  have  convicted  him  of  treason. 

They  have.  (Indignation.  I  will  make  those  men  atone 
for  this  injustice.) 

They  have  not  convicted  him  of  treason. 
They  have.      (You  are  mistaken.) 
They  have  convicted  him  of  treason. 
They  have.      (Sarcasm.) 

VII.  Read  the  following: 

"  The  President  of  the  United  States,  discussing  the  plea 
that  the  South  should  be  left  to  solve  this  problem,  asks: 


Kiv  ISrROnUCTKW 

'  All-  tlicv  ;il  \vi>rk  upon  it  ?  W'liat  solution  ilo  tlu-y  olftT  ? 
When  will  the  black  man  cast  a  free  ballot  ?  '  When  will 
the  black  man  cast  a  free  ballot  ?  When  ij^norance  anywhere 
is  ni>t  ilominateil  by  the  will  of  the  intelligent;  when  tlu; 
laborer  anywhere  casts  a  vote  unhindered  by  liis  boss, — then 
and  not  till  then  will  the  balh)t  of  the  negro  be  free." 

S(,-c  jiai^e  240. 

"  Suddenlv    an    oHicer    gailojxcl     up    and     spoke    to    the 
lieutenant  of  the  nearest  battery. 

"  '  Where's  the  colonel  ?  ' 

"  '  Killed.' 

"  '  Where's  your  captain  ?  ' 

"  '  Dead  there  under  the  gun.' 
'  '  Are  you  in  command  ? ' 

"  '  I  suppose  so. ' 

"  '  Well,  hold  this  hill.' 

"  '  How  h^ng  .'*  ' 

"  '  Forever.'     And  lie  galloped  off. 

"  His  voice  was  heard  clear  and  ringing  in   a  sudden  hdl, 
and  the  old  Sergeant,  clutching  his  musket,  shouted: 

"  '  We  will,  forever.'  "  See  page  no. 

TIME 

"  Awake!  for  morning  in  the  Bowl  of  Night 
Has  flung  the  Stone  that  put  the  Stars  to  Flight: 
And  lo!    the  Hunter  of  the  Fast  has  caught 
The  Sultan's  Turret  in  a  Noose  of  Light." 

Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam. 

"  Enough!   we're  tired,  my  heart  and  I. 
We  sit  beside  the  headstone  thus, 
And  wish  that  name  were  carved  for  us. 
The  moss  reprints  more  tenderly 
The  hard  types  of  the  mason's  knife, 


TIME  Ixv 

As  heaven's  sweet  life  renews  earth's  life 
With  which  we're  tired,  my  heart  and  I." 

From  Mrs.  Browning's  "My  Heart  and  I." 

One  who  reads  the  preceding  selections  with  ears  open  can 
readily  perceive  that  an  important  element  of  vocal  expres- 
sion is  Time.  Time,  as  an  element  of  expression,  manifests 
itself  in  three  ways:  by  length  of  syllables,  by  pauses,  and  by 
rate  of  movement. 

The  length  of  syllables  is  determined  by  the  nature  of  the 
constituent  vowels  and  consonants.  Some  of  the  elementary 
sounds  can  easily  be  prolonged,  while  others  it  is  impossible 
to  lengthen.  To  the  first  class  {a  as  in  ale,  arm,  all,  or  air, 
e  as  in  eve  or  err,  i  as  in  isle,  o  as  in  old,  oo  as  in  ooze,  u 
as  in  use,  oi  as  in  oil,  ou  as  in  our,  I,  m,  n,  r,  v,  w,  y,  z, 
th  as  in  then,  ng,  and  zJi)  has  been  given  the  name  contin- 
uant sounds;  to  the  second  (a  as  in  ask,  a,  e,  i,  o,  u,  short, 
^)  ^)  ^>  y^  ^)  j\  ^>  pj  ^f  A  ^^  ^s  in  thin,  ch,  sh,  and  wK) 
stopt  sounds.*  When  syllables  are  made  up  entirely  of  con- 
tinuant sounds,  as  "  marm  ",  "  noon  ",  "  now  ",  "  lone  ", 
"more",  they  maybe  prolonged  a  great  deal.  Such  are 
called  Indefinite  syllables.  When  syllables  are  made  up 
entirely  of  stopt  sounds,  as  "  pat  ",  "  tot  ",  "  tag  ",  "  dip  ", 
"kick",  we  cannot  prolong  them  without  drawling;  such 
are  called  Immutable.  But  when  syllables  are  made  up  of 
both  stopt  and  continuant  sounds,  as  "gait",  "mad", 
"ark",  "wet",  "rope",  they  are  capable  of  slight  pro- 
longation; such  are  called  Mutable. 

These  three  kinds  of  syllables  the  skillful  writer,  whether 
of  prose  or  poetry,  consciously  or  unconsciously  uses  to  his 
advantage.  This  the  reader  or  speaker  also  must  do  if  he  is 
to  express  thought  or  emotion  persuasively.  He  may,  to  be 
sure,  do  this  unconsciously,  especially  if  he  have  a  musical 
ear  and  power  to  feel  emotion  genuinely,  but  his  right  use 

*  See  Fulton  and  Trueblood:  'Practical  Elocution,"  p.  46.  Ginn  & 
Co.,  Boston. 


Ixvl  JNTROnUCTHfS' 

of  quantity  will  for  that  reason  l)r  none  the  less  potent.  To 
give  to  each  syllable  its  aiij>roi)riatc  (juantity  adils  niarvrl- 
ously  t<.>  the  effectiveness  of  reading  or  speaking.  A  curt, 
snappish  pronunciation  of  syllables  naturally  long  may  rob 
a  sentence  entirely  of  its  j)athos,  solemnity,  and  grandiur, 
and  "  a  false  l)ombastic  swell  of  voice  mvc-r  sounds  so 
ridicuK'Us  as  when  the  injuilieious  or  unskillful  reader  or 
speaker  attempts  to  interfere  with  the  conditions  of  speech, 
and  to  prolong,  under  a  false  excitement  of  utterance,  those 
sounds  which  nature  has  irrevocably  determined  short."  * 

Pronounce  the  words  and  read  the  selections  that  follow, 
aiming  to  give  to  each  syllable  its  prof)er  quantity;  do  not 
be  over-abrupt,  do  not  drawl. 

"  Nowhere  fairer,  sweeter,  rarer, 
Does  the  golden-locked  fruit-bearer 
Through  his  painted  woodlands  stray 
Than  where  hillside  oaks  and  beeches 
Overlook  the  long,  blue  reaches. 
Silver  coves  and  pebbled  beaches, 
And  green  isles  of  Casco  Bay; 
Nowhere  day,  for  delay. 
With  a  tenderer  look  beseeches, 
'  Let  me  witli  my  charmed  earth  stay.'  " 

From  W'mrriEK's  '•The-  Ranger." 

'■'  Two  Voices  are  there;  one  is  of  the  sea, 
One  of  the  mountains;  eacli  a  mighty  Voice: 
In  both  from  age  to  age  thou  didst  rejoice. 
They  were  thy  chosen  music.  Liberty ! 
There  came  a  Tyrant,  and  with  holy  glee 
Thou  fought'st  against  him;  but  hast  vainly  striven : 
Thou  from  thy  Alpine  holds  at  length  art  driven. 
Where  not  a  torrent  murmurs  heard  by  thee. 
Of  one  deep  bliss  thine  ear  hath  been  bereft: 

♦Murdoch  unci  Kubsell:  ••  Vocal  Culture,"  p.  143.  Ticknor  &  Fields 
Boiton. 


TIME  Ixvii 

Then  cleave,  O  cleave  to  that  which  still  is  left — 
For,  high-souled  Maid,  what  sorrow  would  it  be 
That  Mountain  floods  should  thunder  as  before, 
And  Ocean  bellow  from  his  rocky  shore, 
And  neither  awful  Voice  be  heard  by  Thee!  " 

From  Wordsworth's  "England  and  Switzerland,  1802." 

Pause 

Time  also  manifests  itself  through  Pauses, — between 
words,  clauses,  and  sentences.  Pauses  are  often  indicated 
to  the  eye  by  punctuation-marks,  and  the  pupil  used  to  be 
told  to  pause  long  enough  to  count  one  at  a  comma,  two  at 
a  semicolon,  three  at  a  colon,  and  four  at  a  period.  These 
minute  rules  implied  that  punctuation-marks  tell  exactly 
how  often  and  how  long  a  reader  should  pause.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  they  do  not.  The  ear  needs  more  help  and  more 
respite  than  does  the  eye.  The  reader  often  has  to  make  a 
much  longer  pause  at  a  comma  or  semicolon  in  one  place 
than  he  does  in  another;  he  should  also  pause  in  many 
places  where  there  are  no  punctuation-marks,  and  often  pay 
to  a  mark  no  heed  at  all. 

"  Behold  the  condemned  Claudius\and  Cynthia,  whom 
he  lately  took  for  his  wife." 

"  The  Oak~\one  day,  said  to  the  Reed." 

Moreover,  mechanical  rules,  directing  a  reader  to  pause 
before  an  "  infinitive  phrase,  a  relative  clause,  or  a  conjunction 
used  disjunctively  "  are  practically  useless.  The  length  and 
frequency  of  a  reader's  pauses  depend  upon  the  significance 
and  difficulty  of  the  thought  and  the  intensity  of  the 
emotion. 

Movement 

The  third  manifestation  of  Time  is  Movement.  This  is 
to  a  great  extent  the  result  of  Pause  and  Quantity;  but  while 
Pause  and  Quantity  deal  with  the  smaller  elements  of  speech, 
•with  the  word,  a  small  group  of  wo^'ds,  ^lovenient  deals  with 


Jxviii  INTRODUCTION 

larger  groups,  with  the  sentence,  the  paragraph,  and  tlie  whole 
discourse.  Movement  concerns  itself  with  rhythm  ami  with 
rate.  The  first  has  to  do  with  the  laws  of  versification,  with 
the  arrangement  of  accented  and  unaccented  syllables  so  that 
the  vocal  sounds  will  flow  smoothly  and  harmoniously. 
Rate  has  been  well  defined  as  "  the  application  of  Quantity 
and  Pause  to  a  collection  of  words.  "*  Whether  the  rate 
shall  be  fast  or  very  fast,  moderate,  slow,  or  very  slow, 
depends  upon  the  thought  and  emotion  to  be  expressed. 

Principles  to  Determine  Pause  and  Movement. 

I.  Words  ivhich  present  single  ideas  should  be  grouped  to- 
gether. 

"  There  was  once  a  child\and  he  wandered  about  a  great 
deal\and  thought  of  a  number  of  things." 

"  Out  of  the  North\the  wild  news  came,\ 
Far  flashing\on  its  wnngs  of  flame, \ 
Swift  as  the  boreal  light\which  flies 
At  midnight\through  the  startled  skies. \ 
And  there  was  tumult\in  the  air,\ 
The  fife's  shrill  notc,\the  drum's  loud  beat,\ 
And  through  the  wide  land\everywhere\ 
The  answering  tread  of  hurrying  feet.  "\ 

See  page  163. 

"  Through  the  whole  afternoon\there  had  been  a  tremen- 
dous cannonading  of  the  fort\from  the  gunboats  and  the 
land  forces ;\the  smooth\regular\engineer  lines  were 
broken, \and  the  fresh-sodded  embankments\torn  and 
roughened\by  the  unceasing  rain  of  shot  and  shell.  W 
About  six  o'clock\there  came  moving  up  the  island, \over 
the  burning  sands  and  under  the  burning  sky,\a  stalwart, \ 
splendid-appearing  set  of  men,'\who  looked  equal  to  any 

•Fulton  and  Trueblood;  "Practical  Elocution,"  p.  321.  Ginn  & 
Co.,  Boston. 


TIME  Ixix 

daring, \and  capable  of  any  heroism,  Wmen  whom  nothing 
could  daunt\and  few  things  subdue."  See  page  220. 

II.  In  phrasing,  tftdeed  in  the  correct  use  of  all  the  elements 
of  expression,  a  reader  will  be  greatly  aided  by  training  the  eye 
to  keep  well  ahead  of  the  voice. 

It  makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world  whether  a  reader 
lays  hold  of  the  thought  before  pronouncing  the  words  or 
after.  One  results  in  mechanical  repetition;  the  other,  in 
intelligent  expression. 

III.  Ordinary,  unimpassioned  didactic  discourse  requires 
moderate  movement. 

"There  is  a  saying  which  is  in  all  good  men's  mouths, 
namely,  that  they  are  stewards  or  ministers  of  whatever  talents 
are  entrusted  to  them.  Only,  is  it  not  a  strange  thing  that 
while  we  more  or  less  accept  the  meaning  of  that  saying,  so 
long  as  it  is  considered  metaphorical,  we  never  accept  its 
meaning  in  its  own  terms  'i  You  know  the  lesson  is  given 
us  under  the  form  of  a  story  about  money.  Money  was 
given  to  the  servants  to  make  use  of:  the  unprofitable  servant 
dug  in  the  earth,  and  hid  his  Lord's  money.  Well,  we,  in 
our  poetical  and  spiritual  application  of  this,  say  that  of 
course  money  doesn't  mean  money — it  means  wit,  it  means 
intellect,  it  means  influence  in  high  quarters,  it  means 
everything  in  the  world  except  itself." 

From  RusKiN's  "The  True  Use  of  Wealth." 

IV.  Phrases  expressing  the  significant,  suggestive,  essential 
thoughts  of  a  discourse,  the  key-thoughts  as  it  were,  generally 
require  for  their  correct  expression  moderate  or  slow  movement 
with  comparatively  long  pauses  either  before  or  after  them. 

"  I  would  still,  with  the  last  impulse  of  that  soul,  with 
the  last  gasp  of  that  voice,  implore  you  to  remember  this 
truth  :   God  has  given  America  to  be  free."  See  page  277. 

"  Once  in  Persia  ruled  a  king 
Who  upon  his  signet  ring 


IXX  JiS'TKODlCriON 

'(.iiavcil  ii  motto  true  anil  wise, 
Whicli,  when  htkl  before  his  eyes, 
Clave  him  ct)unsel  at  a  glance 
Fit  for  any  change  or  chance. 
SoKmn  words,  and  these  were  they: 
'  /.'ri'fi  this  shall  /i,iss  mviiv. ' 

■  In  the  meant iiiR',  when  there  were  leathered  together  an 
innumerahle  multitiuli'  ot  lieojilr,  in>onuicli  tluit  the\-  trode 
one  upon  another,  he  began  to  say  unto  liis  disciples  lirst  o( 
all,  Jhware  re  of  the  leoven  of  thr  Pharisees,  ivhich  is 
hypocrisv.  "  l-»'l-''  >;'i.  i. 

v.  jVezv,  strange,  odsn/rt',  c/ose/y  reasoned  tJiouglits  rc(/uire 
/or  their  expression  moderate  or  sloiv  movement  with  fre<juent 
ptiuses. 

The  speaker  or  reader  must  seem  to  have  time  enough  to 
handle  the  thought  and  must  give  to  the  audience  time  to 
grasp  the  meaning  of  his  words.  Even  if  lie  has  the  thought 
well  in  hand  so  that  it  presents  no  dil'liculty  to  him,  by 
pausing  he  will  give  the  impression  of  naturalness,  give  the 
impression  that  he  is  thinking,  that  there  is  a  connection 
between  his  tongue  and  brain,  that  he  is  not  simply  repeat- 
ing words  but  conveying  ideas.  On  the  other  hand,  in 
expressing  matter  easily  comprehended  he  must  not  insult 
the  intelligence  of  his  audience  by  pausing  too  frequently. 
The  speaker  or  reader,  as  far  as  the  thought  is  concerned. 
should  keep  his  hearers  well  at  his  heels,  but  should  not  allow 
them  to  run  ahead  of  him. 

\'l.  Setitiments  that  are  brisk,  sprightly,  merry,  playful,  c>i- 
thusiastic,  energetic ,  boisterous,  violent,  furious,  uncontrolled, 
require  fast  or  very  fast  move'iient  ivitJi  short  pauses. 

"  It  requires  no  space  in  history's  crowded  page  to  tell 
how  Todd  could  stand  up  by  a  chair  when  eight  months  old, 
and  crow  and  laugh  and  doddle  his  little  chubby  anns  till 
he  quite  upset  his  balance,  and  pulling  the  chair  down  w.tn 
him,  would  laugh  and  crow  louder  than  ever,  and  kick,  and 


TIME  Ixxi 

crawl,  and  sprawl,  and  jabber;   and  never  lift   a  whimper  of 
distress  but  when  being  rocked  to  sleep." 

From  Riley's  "Todd." 

"  And  all  the  earth  is  gay,' 
Land  and  sea 
Give  themselves  up  to  jollity, 
And  W\\.\\  the  heart  of  May 
Doth  every  beast  keep  holiday; — 
Thou  child  of  joy 
Shout  round  me,  let  me  hear  thy  shouts,  thou   happy 
Shepherd  boy! 

From  Wordsworth's  •'  Ode  on  Imm(-rtality." 

"  Now  you  sec  the  water  foaming  all  around.  See  how 
fast  you  pass  that  point!  Up  with  the  helm!  Now  turn. 
Pull  hard!  quick!  quick!  quick!  pull  iov  your  lives;  pull 
till  the  blood  starts  from  your  nostrils,  and  the  veins  stand 
like  whipcords  upon  your  brow.  Set  the  mast  in  the  socket! 
hoist  the  sail !  Ah!  ah!  it  is  too  late!  Shrieking,  cursing, 
howling,  blaspheming,  over  they  go."  ^^'e  page  i8o. 

\'II.  Sen/inien/s  that  are  gentle,  pa/hc/ic,  disnia/,  dignified, 
stately,  reverential,  Tast,  noble,  exalted,  sublime  rci/uire  slow 
or  very  slow  movement  with  long  pauses. 

''  I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills  from  whence 
cometh  my  help. 

"  My  help  cometh  from  the  f.ord,  which  made  iie.iven  and 
earth. 

"  He  will  not  suffer  thy  foot  to  be  moved  :  he  that  kecpcth 
thee  shall  not  slumber. 

"  Behold,  he  that  keepeth  Israel  shall  neither  slumber  nor 
sleep. 

"  Withm  an  upper  chamber  lay  the  king, 
His  white  face,  'gainst  the  pillow  scarce  as  white, 
Gleamed  ghastly — lip  and  hand  and  brow 
Were  chilling  with  the  icy  touch  of  him 
Who  comes  but  once — who  comes  alike  to  all. 


Ixxii  INTRODUCTION 

Abiiut  the  room  the  waxen  tapers  tall 
Lit  up  the  shadows,  while  the  black-robed  priests 
Stood  round  the  couch  with  '  Host  and  Crucifix,' 
The  ceremonial  of  "the  sacrament.  "  ^<^<'  I'^^gc  7. 

"  Dead!   one  of  them  shot  by  the  sea  in  the  eas*'. 
And  one  of  them  shot  in  the  west  by  the  sea. 
Dead!  both  my  boys!     When  you  sit  at  the  feast 
And  are  wanting  a  great  song  for  your  Italy  free. 
Let  none  look  at  mc/" 

See  page  208. 

EMPHASIS 

"  This  I  beheld,  or  dreamed  it  in  a  dream: — 
There  spread  a  cloud  of  dust  along  a  plain; 
And  underneath  the  cloud,  or  in  it,  raged 
A  furious  battle,  and  men  yelled,  and  swords 
Shocked  upon  swords  and  shields.     A  prince's  banner 
Wavered,  then  staggered  backward,  hemmed  by  foes. 
A  craven  hung  along  the  battle's  edge. 
And  thought,  '  Had  I  a  sword  of  keener  steel — 
That  blue  blade  that  the  king's  son  bears, — but  this 
Blunt  thing — !  '   he  snapt  and  flung  it  from  his  hand, 
And  lowering  crept  away  and  left  the  field. 
Then  came  the  king's  son,  wounded,  sore  bestead. 
And  weaponless,  and  saw  the  broken  sword, 
Hilt-buried  in  the  dry  and  trodden  sand, 
And  ran  and  snatched  it,  and  with  battle-shout 
Lifted  afresh  he  hewed  his  enemy  down, 
And  saved  a  great  cause  that  heroic  day."  * 

A  careful  reader  of  the  preceding  lines  at  once  sees  that 
all  the  words  are  not  on  the  same  level.  Some  are  in  the 
background;  some  in  the  foreground.      Every  phrase  has  its 

*  Reprinted,  by  special  arrangement  with,  and  permission  of,  the 
publishers,  from  "Poems  by  Edward  Rowland  Sill,"  copyright,  1887 
by  Hougliton.  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston. 


EMPHASIS  Ixxiii 

important  word,  and  every  clause  and  sentence  its  important 
word  or  phrase.  The  prominence  given  to  these  significant 
words  and  phrases  by  means  of  the  elements  of  expression  is 
Emphasis. 

Emphasis  shows  the  logical  relation  between  the  parts  of 
the  sentence,  the  relative  value  of  each,  and  suggests  mean- 
ings not  fully  expressed.  It  shows  that  a  reader  has  looked 
between  the  lines.  By  slight  variations  of  emphasis  a  sen- 
tence may  often  be  given  as  many  different  meanings  as  it 
has  words.      Notice,  for  example,  the  following  sentence: 

1.  Did  John  give  you  books  ?  (I  am  surprised;  I  heard 
that  he  did,  but  I  could  hardly  believe  it.) 

2.  Did  John  give  you  books  .?  (I  thought  James  or  Peter 
gave  them  to  you.) 

3.  Did  John  give  you  books  .?  (I  thought  you  bought 
them  of  him;   John  doesn't  very  often  give  anything  away.) 

4.  Did  John  give  you  books  ?  (He  gave  some  to  Mary 
and  Eliza;  I  didn't  know  that  he  gave  them  to  you.) 

5.  Did  John  give  you  books/'  (I  thought  he  gave  you 
pictures.) 

6.  Did  John  g\v&you  \  booksP  (That  is  a  strange  present 
for  you.  He  knew  you  don't  like  books  and  haven't  any 
use  for  them. ) 

Means  of  Emphasis 

The  means  of  emphasis  have  already  been  spoken  of. 
We  may  emphasize  a  word  (i)  by  speaking  it  louder  or 
lower;  (2)  by  pausing  either  before  or  after  it,  or  by  dwelling 
upon  the  sounds;  (3)  by  making  the  pitch  higher  or  lower; 
(4)  by  varying  the  quality  of  the  voice.  The  first,  emphasis 
by  mere  force,  is  the  easiest  to  apply.  It  is  often  used  in 
connection  with  the  other  forms,  but  by  itself  it  is  the  least 
satisfactory.  Overused  it  becomes  a  thump,  thump,  and  is 
sure  to  rob  expression  of  all  delicacy  of  touch  and  suggestion 
of  culture.  The  more  artistic  methods  of  emphasis  are 
varying  the  pitch,  the  quaHty,  and  the  time.      None  of  thest 


Ixxiv  INTKOnUCTIOX 

shoulii,  liowcwr.  l)C  usid  exclusively.  A  puitil  -li.MiJ.l  pnic- 
ticc  upon  all  the  liifferent  forms.  C^iily  llius  will  he  liaw 
them  all  at  his  commaml,  aiui  escape  the  fatal  fault  of 
always  making  a  thought  prominent  in  the  same  way ;  by 
using  the  aspirate  cpiality,  for  example,  as  do  some  ])ublic 
speakers,  or  the  intermittent  stress  as  do  otiicrs. 

No  very  defmite  rules  for  emphasis  can  be  given.  One 
cannot  say  that  the  subject  or  the  predicate  of  a  sentence  is 
to  he  emphasized;  for  the  emphasis  may  fall  ujion  a  preposi- 
tion  or  an  article.  Neither  can  one  say  that  in  this  case  tlic 
emphasis  should  be  applied  by  varying  the  pitch,  in  that  the 
quality,  in  another  the  time.  The  following  general  princi- 
ples of  emphasis  have,  however,  been  given  in  one  form  or 
another  many  times  and  liave  been  found  of  practical  value. 

I.  Pu/  special  emphasis  on  only  a  feiv  words.  Since  all  em- 
phasis is  relative,  to  try  to  emphasize  all  the  words  in  a  sen- 
tence is  to  emphasize  none. 

II.  Words  or  phrases  expressing  ideas  that  are  neiv  should 
be  emphasized ;  those  expressing  ideas  ivhich  are  repeated, — un- 
less thev  are  repeated  /or  emphasis, — which  have  been  implied, 
which  may  be  taken  for  granted,  or  are  easily  in/erred  /ram 
what  has  been  said,  should  not  be  emphasized. 

New  Ideas 

"  This  is  the  state  that  ffV/////r^;/>  founded.  Warren  (\\td 
for  her  liberties  and  Webster  defended  her  good  name. 
Sumner  bore  stripes  in  behalf  of  her  beliefs,  and  her  sons 
gave  their  lives  on  every  battlefield  for  the  one  flag  she  held 
more  sacred  than  her  own.  She  hz.?, /ought /or  liberty.  She 
has  done  justice  between  man  and  man.  She  has  sought  to 
protect  the  weak,  to  save  the  erring,  to  raise  the  tin/ortunatc. 
She  has  been  the  fruitful  mother  of  ideas  as  of  7nen.  .  .  .  She 
has  kept  her  shield  unspotted  and  her  honor  pure.  To  us,  her 
loving  children,  she  is  a  great  heritage  and  a  great  trust." 

Sec  page  171. 


F.MPH^SIS  IxxV 

Ideas   Repeatkd  ok  Implied 

"  A  chill  no  coat,  however  stout, 
Of  homespun  stuff  could  quite  shut  out, 
A  hard  dull  bitterness  of  cold, 
The  coming  of  the  storm  foretold. "       Whittier. 

' '  Then  soon  he  rose ;   the  prayer  was  strong ; 
'Y\\^ psalm  was  warrio?-  David's  song." 

See  page  164. 

"  On  the  morning  of  Saturday,  July  second,  the  President 
was  a  contented  and  happv  man — not  in  an  ordinary  degree, 
hw\.  jov/ully,  almost  <5oi'/>///v,  happy."  See  page  142. 

''  Gieat  in  life,  he  was  siirpassittgly  great  in  death.  " 

See  page  143. 

Ideas   Repeated   for   Kmphasis 

''On,  on,  you  nol)le  ICnglish, 
\\'hose  blood  is  fet  from  fathers  of  war  proof." 

"  As  the  columns  halted  Napoleon  shouted  to  him: 
"  Beat  a  ?-etreat /  "  The  boy  did  not  stir.  "  Gamin,  deal  a 
retreat!  ' '  See  page  293. 

"  Ho,  sir,  vou  knew  of  this  fair  work — you  are  an  accom- 
plice in  this  deception  which  has  been  practiced  on  us — vou 
have  been  a  main  cause  of  our  doing  injustice! 

"  If  I  were  an  American,  as  I  am  an  Englishman,  while  a 
foreign  troop  was  landed  in  my  country,  I  never  would  lay 
down  my  arms — never — never — never."  See  page  92. 

"  Yes,  this  old  and  absurd  lex  talionis — this  law  of  blood 
for  blood — I  have  combated  <///  wr  li/'c — all  my  life,  Gentle- 
men of  the  Jury!  '"  See  page  69. 

III.  Always  the  second,  and  often  both,  of  a  pair  of  words 
expressing  contrasted  ideas  should  be  made  emphatic  ;  or  when 
the  contrast  is  simply  implied,  the  ivord  suggestifig  the  contrast 
should  be  emphasized. 


Ixwi  INTRODUCTION 

("on  IKASr 

"Wc  do  not  count  aroinul  us  a  feiv  /cchlc  vctrrans  of  the 
contest;  wc  arc  girt  by  a  cloud  of  witnesses.  " 

"Our  common  lihcrlv  '\^  consecrated  by  a  eomnum  sor- 
ro-v. 

"  The  stately  mansion  of  poivcr  liati  been  to  him  a  -weari- 
some hospital  of  pain. ' '  See  pa^je  143. 

"  When  I  pass  by  the  collective  i)arties  in  this  case  and 
recall  {he  particular  ones,'"  etc.  ^^-e  page  214. 

Second  Tkkm  I.mi'iiasizki)  and   Not  ]''irst 

'  You  have  just  been  told  how,  in  the  pomp  and  circum- 
stance of  war,  your  returning  armies  came  back  to  you, 
marching  with  proud  and  victorious  tread,  reading  their 
glory  in  a  nation's  eyes!  Lei  ffie  picture  to  you  the  footsore 
Confederate  soldier,  as,  buttoning  up  in  his  faded  gray  jacket 
the  parole  which  was  to  bear  testimony  to  his  children  of  his 
fidelity  and  faith,  lie  turned  his  face  southward  from  Appo- 
mattox in  April,    1865."  See  page  313. 

"  Partakers  in  every  peril,  in  the  glory  shall  we  not  be 
permitted  to  participate.''"  ("Peril,"  expressing  an  idea 
that  is  repeated,  as  the  preceding  sentences  will  show,  should 
not  be  emphasized.) 

Application  of  the   Principles  of  Emphasis 

"CENTURIES  AGO.  on  the  rock-bound  coast  of  MASSA- 
CHUSETTS BAY.  07ie  night  there  was  a  WEDDING.  'iTie 
SKY  was  the  roof  that  covered  the  high  contracting  parties, 
and  the  STARS  painted  by  the  finger  of  God  were  the 
FRESCO-\YORK ;  tlie  MUSIC  w'as  that  of  the  SINGING  NIGHT- 
BIRD  and  the  SURGE  (jl"  THE  GRAY  OLD  OCEAN;  the 
BIDDEN  GUESTS  were  the  PURITAN  FATHERS  and  the 
PURITAN   MOTHERS ;  the  UNBIDDE^   guests  were  the  DUSKV 


EMPHASIS  Ixxvii 

SAVAGES  ;  the  bride  and  the  bridegroom  were  the  MEET. 
ING-HOUSE  and  the  SCHOOL-HOUSE,  and  from  th^t  marriage 
there  was  bortt  a  child.  They  chris/ened \t  NEW  ENGLAND 
CIVILIZATION."  Seepages. 

It  is  impossible  to  show  accurately  the  different  values 
which  any  reader,  with  the  various  means  at  his  command, 
will  give  to  different  words  and  phrases  of  a  bit  of  discourse. 
Then,  too,  more  than  one  reading  may  be  correct.  The 
preceding  marked  passage  will  help,  however,  to  illustrate 
the  principles  of  emphasis.  At  the  beginning  of  a  speech 
or  a  reading  all  is  new;  generally,  therefore,  in  the  first  sen- 
tence a  larger  proportion  of  words  will  be  emphasized  than 
in  the  sentences  that  follow.  In  the  first  sentence  of  this 
selection,  "  centuries  ago  ",  "  rock-bound  coast  ",  "  Massa- 
chusetts Bay",  are  all  made  fairly  prominent.  The  word, 
however,  to  which  all  the  other  words  in  the  sentence  should 
be  made  subservient  is  "wedding".  Where  the  wedding 
was  held,  and  when,  are  subordinate  facts.  "Wedding", 
then,  should  receive  the  most  emphasis.  The  remaining 
words  and  phrases  are  not  all  of  course  of  the  same  rank. 
Since  it  makes  little  difference  on  what  night  this  wedding 
occurred,  and  since  weddings  often  occur  in  the  evening, 
the  phrase,  "one  night",  expresses  no  uncommon  or  im- 
portant circumstance.  It  may  be  given  a  little  more  im- 
portance than  "on",  "there",  and  "was",  by  slightly 
pausing  after  it;  it  should,  however,  be  glided  over  pretty 
easily.  "  Rock-bound  coast,"  suggesting,  as  it  does,  some- 
thing of  the  ruggedness  of  the  Puritan  country,  should  be 
emphasized  a  little  more  than  "one  night".  The  fact 
expressed  by  "Massachusetts  Bay",  that  the  wedding 
occurred  in  New  England,  has  considerable  bearing  upon 
what  follows;  it  should  perhaps  be  given  about  the  same 
prominence  as  "  centuries  ago." 

In  the  second  sentence  "  sky  "  is  the  first  significant  word, 
and  "  rooi  "  the  next  but  less  significant  word.      Weddings 


Kxviii  JNTKOni'LTION 

grncr.illy  t.ikc  jihicc  in  Imuscs  or  tliurclics;  often  the  room 
is  decorated,  tlie  walls  and  ceilings  arc  frescoed;  tlicrc  is 
music  by  orchestra  ur  organist;  but  this  wcdiling  was 
peculiar;  ""the  sky"  was  the  "  roof  ",  the  "stars"  were 
the  "  fresco  work  ",  the  "  song  of  the  night-bird  "  and  the 
"surge  of  the  ocean  "  were  tlic  "music".  These  things 
wherein  it  iliffered  from  ordinary  weddings  should  be  made 
emphatic.  "  Covered  "  and  "  contracting  parties"  should 
not  be  emphasized  since  roofs  always  cover,  and  the  mere 
mention  of  wedding  suggests  that  there  are  "  high  contract- 
ing parties."  Moreover  to  emjdiasize  "  high  "  would  sug- 
gest that  there  arc  "  low  "  parties,  and  to  emphasize  "  high 
contracting  "  gives  the  erroneous  impression  that  there  were 
other  parties  concerned  which  tlie  sky  did  not  cover.  At 
every  wedding  there  are  bidden  guests  and  sometimes  guests 
unbidden  ;  there  are  always  a  bride  and  a  bridegroom.  In 
;his  selection,  then,"  guests  ","  bride  ",  and  "  bridegroom  " 
need  to  be  emphasized  only  enough  to  help  complete  the 
comparison  between  this  and  all  weddings.  "  Bidden  "  and 
"  unbitldcn  "  are  emphasized  somewhat  since  they  are 
antithetical.  The  second  "guests",  since  it  is  a  word 
rcj)eated  and  not  repeated  for  emphasis,  should  be  touched 
lightly.  Wlio  the  guests  were  is  of  imj)ortance.  "  Puritan 
fathers'",  "Puritan  mothers",  and  "dusky  savages" 
should,  then,  be  made  emphatic.  In  the  last  phrase  to 
emphasize  "dusky"  would  give  the  wrong  implication. 
The  significant  fact  is  not  that  the  unbidden  guests  were 
"dusky"  but  that  they  were  "savages".  Who  the  bride 
and  the  bridegroom  were  is  all-irnportant.  Therefore 
"meeting-house"  and  "school-house"  should  be  made 
prominent.  In  the  next  sentence  "marriage"  expresses  a 
repeated  idea.  The  new  and  important  word  is  "  child  ". 
The  thought  expressed  in  "born"  should  not  be  em- 
phasized until  the  reader  pronounces  "  child  ".  That  they 
christened  the  child  is  not  strange;  what  they  christened  it 
is  of  moment,      "New  Kngland  Civilization  "  is  the  key- 


EMPHASIS  Ixxix 

phrase  of  the  whole  oration.  It  should  be  made  to  stand 
out  as  prominently  as  the  poor  peasant  in  Millet's  "  Man 
with  the  Hoe." 

With  the  preceding  principles  in  mind  give  reasons  why 
the  following  italicized  words  should  (or  should  not)  be 
emphasized : 

"  If  I  were  to  tell  you  the  story  of  Napoleon,  I  should  take 
it  from  the  lips  of  Frenchmen,  who  find  no  language  rich 
enough  to  paint  the  great  captain  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
Were  I  to  tell  you  the  story  of  Washitigton,  I  should  take  it 
from  your  hearts, — -you,  who  think  no  marble  zvhite  enough 
on  which  to  carve  the  name  of  the  Father  of  his  country. 
But  I  am  to  tell  you  the  story  of  a  negro,  Toussaint  L'  Ouver- 
iure,  who  has  left  hardly  one  written  line.  I  am  to  glean  it 
from  the  reluctant  testimony  of  his  enemies,  men  who 
despised  him  because  he  was  a  7iegro  and  a  slave,  and  hated 
him  because  he  had  beaten  them  in  battle. 

''Cromwell  manufactured  his  own  army.  Xapoleon,  at  the 
age  of  twenty-seven,  was  placed  at  the  head  of  the  best  troops 
Europe  ever  saw.  Cromwell  never  saw  an  army  till  he  was 
forty;  //«>  man  never  a  soldier  \\\\  he  was_;?/?r.  Cromwell 
manufactured  his  own  army — out  of  what.^  Englishmen, — 
the  best  blood  in  Europe.  Out  of  the  middle  class  of  English- 
men,— the  best  blood  of  the  island.  And  with  it  he  cofiquered 
what  ?  Englislwien, — their  equals.  This  man  manufactured 
his  army  out  of  what  ?  Out  of  what  you  call  the  despicable 
race  of  negroes,  debased,  demoralized  by  two  hundred  years 
of  slavery,  one  hundred  thousarid  of  them  imported  into  the 
island  \;'\\\{\xv  four  years,  unable  to  speak  a  dialect  intelligible 
even  to  each  other.  Yet  out  of  this  mixed  and,  as  you  say, 
despicable  mass  he  forged  a  thunderbolt,  and  hurled  it  at 
what  ?  At  the  proudest  blood  in  Europe,  the  Spaniard,  and 
sent  him  home  conquered ;  at  the  most  warlike  blood  in 
Europe,  the  French,  and  put  them  under  his  feet ;  at  the 
f  luckiest  blood  in  Europe,  the  English,  and  they  skulked  homo, 


l\xx  INTRODUCTION 

to  Jamaica.      Now,  if  t'ronnvcll  was  a  gcncriil,  at   least  this 
man  was  a  soldier. ' '  Sie  p;i^;o  307. 

"  I  watch  the  Tnoivrrs,  as  they  go 
Througli  the  tall  grass,  a  white-sleeved  row. 
With  even  stroke  their  scythn^  they  swing, 
In  tune  their  merry  whelstonci  ring. 
Behind,  the  riwwhXn youngsters  run 
And  toss  the  thick  sivathes  in  the  sun. 
The  cattle  graze,  while,  warm  and  still. 
Slopes  the  broad  pasture,  basks  the  /////, 
And  bright,  where  summer  breezes  break, 
The  green  wheat  crinkles  like  a  lake. 
The  butterfly  and  humble  bee 
Come  to  the  pleasant  ivoods  with  me; 
Quickly  before  me  runs  the  quail, 
Her  chickens  skulk  behind  the  rail; 
High  up  the  lone  wood-pigeon  sits, 
And  the  woodpecker  pecks  and  flits, 
Sweet  woodland  music  sinks  and  swell  =  , 
The  brooklet  rings  its  tinkling  bells, 
The  swarming  insects  drone  and  hum. 
The.  partridge  beats  his  throbbing  drum 
The  squirrel  leaps  among  the  boughs. 
And  chatters  in  his  leafy  house, 
The  orioi^e  flashes  by;  and,  look! 
Into  the  mirror  of  the  brook. 
Where  the  vain  bluebird  trims  his  coat. 
Two  Wny feathers  fall  and  float." 

Prom  Trowbridge's  "  Midsumme-.    ' 

"  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained. 
It  droppcth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath:  it  is  twice  blest: 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives  and  him  that  takes: 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  ynightiest;  it  bec(;mes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown: 


GESTURE  Ixxxi 

His  scepter  shows  the  force  of  temporal  power, 
The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty, 
Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  zxv^  fear  of  kings; 
But  mercy  is  above  the  sceptered  sway  ; 
It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings. 
It  is  an  attribute  to  God  Himself; 
And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's 
When  mercy  seasons  justice.      Therefore,  Jew, 
Though  justice  be  thy  plea,  consider  this, 
That,  in  the  course  oi  justice,  none  of  us 
Should  see  salvatio7i.     We  do  pray  for  mercy; 
And  that  same  prayer  doth  teach  us  all  to  render 
The  deeds  of  mercy.      I  have  spoke  thus  much, 
To  mitigate  the  justice  of  thy  plea; 
Which,  if  ihon  /oil ozv,  this  strict  court  of  Venice 
Must  needs  give  sentence  'gainst  the  merchant  there," 
Shakespere's  "  The  Merchant  of  Venice." 

GESTURE 

A  speaker  influences  his  audience  in  two  ways:  by  an 
appeal  to  the  ear  and  by  an  appeal  to  the  eye.  In  learning 
to  appeal  to  the  eye  of  their  audience,  students  often  ask  the 
following  questions. 

Hoiv  shall  I  get  tipon  the  platform?  Take  your  time.  A 
speaker  often  hurries  so  much  that  he  shows  his  audience  at 
the  very  start  that  he  cannot  control  himself.  "  Don't 
scrape  your  feet  " ;  or  keep  your  eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor 
as  if  trying  to  pick  out  the  place  to  stand.  Walk  in  a  digni- 
fied manner  to  the  middle  of  the  stage. 

What  is  the  proper  way  to  bow?  In  the  first  place  do  not 
draw  your  feet  up  together  as  if  about  to  "  present  arms  ". 
Do  not  bow  with  one  foot  ahead  of  the  other.  Do  not,  if 
you  are  a  young  man,  draw  one  foot  backward ;  that  method 
is  often  correct  for  a  young  woman  on  the  platform  as  in  the 
ballroom,  but  for  a  man  it  is  too  artificial.  In  bowing, 
both  the  neck  and  the  back  should  be  bent.      "  Don't  bow  as 


iN^^ii  INTRODUCTION 

tlK)Ugh  your  spine  was  a  pokt  r  with  tlir  liingo  mar  the  Kiwcr 
tcrinimis.  ■■  .  .  .  Don't  bow  as  though  ihc  hinge  was  in  your 
neck."'*  The  head  sliouKl  be  bent  forward  lirst,  then  tlie 
torsi>:  in  recoverini,^  your  position  begin  to  straighten  tlu: 
back  lirst,  then  tlic  neck.  .'^h.dl  I  keep  my  eyes  on  the 
auilieiice  wlien  bowing  .'  \'es.  To  be  sure,  if  you  bow 
deeply,  you  will  seem  to  roll  your  eyes  upward;  but  ilo  not 
bow  ileeply.      Make  simply  a  respectful  bow  of  recognition. 

IfoiV  oughl  a  speaker  or  reader  lo  sUiiid  -^  The  answer  to 
this  question  must  be  somewhat  like  an  answer  to  the  ([ues- 
tion.  How  shall  I  trim  my  boat.'  In  sailing  into  the  teeth 
of  a  gale  you  trim  \  eiur  boat  differently  from  what  you  do 
when  you  are  sailing  over  smooth  water. 

First positiojt.  A  good  normal,  fair-weather  attitude  is  to 
stand  erect,  the  hands  hanging  loosely  at  the  sides,  the 
fingers  slightly  bent,  one  foot  a  little  in  advance  of  the  other 
and  making  with  it  an  angle  of  about  sixty  degrees,  the 
weight  of  the  body  being  thrown  upon  the  ball  of  the  foot 
behind.  In  this  position  the  ki.ee  of  the  free  leg  shouUl  not 
be  stiffened. 

In  trying  to  get  an  erect  position  do  not  thrust  the  chin 
out  too  far;  do  not  throw  the  shoulders  back  too  much  or 
the  hips  forward.  Such  an  attitude  is  sure  to  seem  vulgar 
(jr  artificial;  and  remember,  here,  as  everywhere,  the  great 
art  is  to  conceal  art.  Imagine  some  one  is  j)ulling  you  up 
by  the  scalplock;  you  will  then  get  your  head  and  body  into 
the  right  position. 

As  far  as  the  j)osition  of  tiie  hands  is  C()ncerned,  to  be 
sure  we  sometimes  see  public  speakers  with  their  hands 
behind  them,  with  their  thumbs  in  their  trousers  pockets,  or 
witli  one  hand  fumbling  a  watch-chain.  Tliat  is  all  very 
well  so  far  as  it  looks  free  and  easy  and  not  disrespectful; 
but  for  a  young  man  declaiming,  such  a  position  is  rather 
dangerous;    it    makes    liim    seem    over-confident.      Do    not 

♦Smith:  •' Reading  and  Speaking,"  ]>.  105.  D.  C.  Heath  &  Co., 
Bos  toil. 


GESTURE  Ixxxiii 

clench  the  liands  tightly.  This  comes,  like  the  contracting 
of  the  brow,  from  a  desire  to  haul  one's  self  together. 
When  speaking  keep  the  muscles  of  the  hands,  arms,  and 
face  relaxed.  Do  not  fumble  with  your  ring.  Do  not  keep 
hold  of  your  coat.  Do  not  keep  shutting  or  opening  your 
hands  or  pulling  down  your  cuffs.  Such  movements  distract 
the  attention  of  the  audience  from  what  you  are  saying. 
The  attention  of  an  ordinary  audience  is  very  easily  diverted. 
A  man  opening  a  window,  or  a  harmless  cat  walking  up  the 
pulpit  stairs,  or  a  neck-tie  working  up  over  a  speakers  collar 
will  worst  even  the  most  eloquent  orators  in  the  contest  for 
attention. 

In  speaking  tlie  following  selections  one  could  properly 
stand  in  the  first  position. 

"  There  was  an  air  of  desolation  about  the  grim  old  State 
House,  as,  one  by  one,  the  last  loitering  feet  came  down  the 
damp  corridors.  The  Governor  heard  the  steps  and  the 
rustle  of  a  woman's  skirt.  He  never  felt  quite  alone  in  the 
empty  State  House  until  those  steps  had  passed  by." 

See  page  31. 

"  Adolfo  Rodriguez  was  the  only  son  of  a  Cuban  farmer. 
When  the  revolution  broke  out  young  Rodriguez  joined  the 
insurgents,  leaving  his  father  and  mother  and  sisters  at  the 
farm.  He  was  taken  by  the  Spanish,  was  tried  by  a  military 
court  for  bearing  arms  against  the  government,  and  sen- 
tenced to  be  shot  by  a  fusillade  some  morning  before 
sunrise. ' '  See  page  228. 

These  are  passages  of  plain,  unemotional  prose;  but  at 
times  your  speech  is  impassioned.  You  wish  to  defy  your 
audience,  as  Regulus  in  his  speech  to  the  Carthaginians;  to 
appeal  to  them,  as  Lodge  in  the  last  part  of  "  The  Traditions 
of  Massachusetts  "  (page  11);  to  describe  an  exciting  race, 
as  in  "  Ben  Hur  "  (page  251),  or  a  perilous  battle-charge, 
as  in  "The  Storming  of  Missionary  Ridge"  (page  23)  or 
the  "  Victor  of  Marengo  "  (page  292).  Then  the  first  posi- 
tion is  too  passive;  change  to  one  of  the  following  positions. 


Ixxxiv  INTROnUCTION 

S('(:on</  f^osilion.  Stt-p  fi)r\v;u"ii,  tluowing  your  weight 
almost  t'litiniy  upon  tin-  toot  in  advance,  having  the  feet  at 
an  angle  of  nearly  ninety  degrees,  the  leg  beliind  straight, 
the  knee  of  the  leg  in  front  bent.  The  heel  of  the  free  foot 
is  often  lifted  slightly,  only  the  ball  touching  the  lloor. 

This  position,  bringing  you  nearer  to  the  audience,  is  well 
adapteil  to  impassioned  speaking,  to  appeal  and  exciting 
description.  In  speaking  the  following  selections,  one  could 
jiroperlv  stand  in  the  second  position. 

"  I  turn  to  you,  the  brothers  and  the  sons  of  those  rnen ; 
to  you,  heirs  of  the  great  Republican  heritage  of  union  and 
freedom;  to  you  within  the  borders  of  whose  commonwealth 
lie  guarded  Concord,  Lexington,  and  Bunker  Mill;  to  you, 
children  of  the  Pilgrim  and  the  Puritan;  to  you,  citizens  of 
the  great  Republic!  To  you  I  come  and  ask  the  same 
counsel  that  I  asked  from  the  history  of  the  old  State,  and 
your  answer  I  know  will  be  the  same."  ^«-'e  pago  14. 

"  And  as  the  smoke  cleared  away  the  gamin  was  seen  in 
front  of  his  line  marching  right  on  and  still  beating  the 
furious  charge.  Over  the  dead  and  wounded,  over  breast- 
works and  fallen  foe,  over  cannon  belching  forth  their  fire 
of  death,  he  led  the  way  to  victory;  and  the  fifteen  days  in 
Italy  were  ended. ' '  See  page  293. 

Third  position.  This  position  is  very  much  like  the 
second.  The  feet  are  at  an  angle  of  ninety  degrees,  and 
about  the  same  distance  apart  as  in  the  second ;  the  weight 
of  the  body,  however,  is  thrown  upon  the  foot  behind,  the 
leg  in  front  is  straight,  and  the  knee  of  the  leg  behind  slightly 
bent. 

This  position  is  used  in  the  expression  of  horror,  terror, 
and  amazement.  In  speaking  the  following  selections  one 
could  properly  stand  in  the  third  position: 

"  But  look!   look!   the  monster  is  stumbling,  while  trembles 
the  fragile  bridge-wall — 
They  struggle  like  athletes  entwining — then  both  like  a 
thunderbolt  fall] 


GESTURE  Ixxxv 

Down,  down  through  the  dark  the  train  plunges,  with 
speed  unaccustomed  and  dire; 

It  glows  with  its  last  dying  beauty — it  gleams  like  a  hail- 
stone of  fire!  "  See  page  174. 

"  I  see  them — their  uplifted  hands. 
Their  pleading  eyes — oh,  there! 
See!   see  their  life-blood  flowing  down 

Around  me  everywhere!  "  See  page  8. 

Whejt  should  gestures  be  rtiade  P  Make  few  gestures,  but  see 
that  they  count.  A  superfluity  of  gestures  is  not  only  in- 
effective, it  is  disgusting.  Especially  is  this  true  in  descrip- 
tive selections.  Continuous  sawing  of  the  air  with  the  hand 
has  done  much  to  throw  public  reading  into  disrepute  and 
make  us  all  a  little  shy  of  the  "elocutionist".  Make 
gestures  only  when  you  have  the  impulse  to  make  them.f 
Let  them  originate  within ;  do  not  put  them  on  from  the] 
outside.  Voltaire,  it  is  said,  when  "preparing  a  young 
actress  to  appear  in  one  of  his  tragedies,  tied  her  hands  to 
her  sides  with  pack-thread  in  order  to  check  her  tendency 
toward  exuberant  gesticulation.  Under  this  condition  of 
compulsory  immobility  she  commenced  to  rehearse,  and  for 
some  time  she  bore  herself  calmly  enough;  but  at  last,  com- 
pletely carried  away  by  her  feelings,  she  burst  her  bonds  and 
flung  up  her  arms.  Alarmed  at  her  supposed  neglect  of  his 
instructions,  she  began  to  apologize  to  the  poet;  he  smilingly 
reassured  her,  however;  the  gesture  was  Ihen  admirable, 
because  it  was  irrepressible."  * 

Understand  just  what  role  you  are  playing.  Often  a 
superfluous  number  as  well  as  a  wrong  kind  of  gestures  is 
made  because  the  speaker  fails  to  do  two  things:  (i)  He 
does  not  distinguish  between  the  personator  and  the  actor; 
(2)   He  does  not  distinguish  between  the  describer  and  the 

*  Hammerton  :  "  The  Actor's  Art,"  p.  48.  George  Redway,  London, 
Eng. 


K>;xvi  IXTROni'CTIOK' 

jxTSi^nator.  Tin-  actor  i1i]hmu1s  u|uin  \u<  ccstnnu-,  tlic 
scoiuT)'.  ami  the  acts  of  t)tlRT.s  upon  llie  staj;c.  The  per- 
sonator  must  not  do  this.  H  he  has  a  letter  to  reail,  as  in 
"  Tlu-  Speech  of  Serjeant  Buzfuz  ",  or  a  note,  as  in  Carle- 
ton's  "  First  Settler's  Story",  he  shows  his  weakness  if  he 
tlraws  from  his  pocket  a  sheet  of  paper.  A  bouquet  of  roses 
in  the  hami  of  the  reciter  does  not  improve  the  rendering  of 
"  Zingarella,  the  Gypsy  Flower  (lirl  ".  and  the  playing  of 
an  organ  at  "  Music,  awake  her;  strike!  '  may  greatly  injure 
the  presentation  of  the  statue  scene  in  "  The  Winter's 
Tale  ".  All  this  is  ineffective  because  it  spoils  the  illusion; 
it  bursts  the  bubble.  It  is  mixing  too  much  the  real  and 
the  imaginative.  As  Fulton  and  Trueblood  point  out 
clearly,  tlie  reciter  "  must  suggest  the  picture  and  allow  the 
imagination  of  the  audience  to  paint  it  ".  He  should  not 
try  to  act  the  different  parts.  "The  drawing  of  a  dagger 
may  be  indicated,  but  there  is  no  necessity  of  sheathing  it. 
In  the  personation  of  Hamlet  the  reciter  can  indicate  the 
drawing  of  a  sword  and  the  stabbing  of  Polonius,  but  he 
must  not  carry  out  the  action  to  the  extent  that  would  be 
appropriate  to  the  actor."  * 

Secondly,  you  should  discriminate  between  the  dcscriber 
and  the  personator.  In  writing  a  story  a  person  often  takes 
one  of  two  points  of  view :  either  he  represents  himself  as  one 
of  the  characters,  as  John  Ridd  in  "  Lorna  Doone  ",  or  he 
takes  the  omniscient  point  of  view,  as  Scott  in  "  Ivanhoe  " ; 
that  is,  he  stands  outside  and  looks  down  upon  his  characters 
and  sees  each  act  his  part,  and  seeing  the  end  from  the 
beginning,  knows  all  about  the  acts  of  each  and  the  motives 
which  inspire  them.  Now  if  he  changes  his  point  of  view 
without  giving  due  notice  to  his  reader,  and  suddenly  steps 
upon  the  stage  himself  to  play  a  part,  the  result  is  confusion. 
The  same  thing  is  true  in  reciting:  either  you  are  an  actor 
in  the  scene  or  you  are  standing  outside  and  describing  the 

*  Fulton  and  Trueblood  :    "Practical  Elocution,"  p.  341.     (,inn  &  Co. 
Boston. 


GESTURE  Ixxxvii 

scene  to  others.  You  cannot  play  two  parts  at  the  same 
moment.  To  tell  just  when  and  how  to  change  from  one 
role  to  the  other  without  causing  confusion  is  sometimes 
difficult.  In  an  oration  this  question  does  not  often  present 
itself.  When  you  are  speaking  the  Bunker  Hill  oration  you 
are  Webster;  when  you  are  speaking  "  The  War  in  America  " 
you  are  Chatham.  The  only  time  questions  arise  is  when 
you  have  a  speech  within  a  speech.  When  Serjeant  I^uzfuz, 
quoting  the  words  of  INIrs.  Bardell,  sa}-,  "  Mr.  Bardell  was 
no  deceiver — ]\Ir.  Bardell  was  once  a  single  gentleman  him- 
self— to  single  gentlemen  I  look  for  protection,  for  assist- 
ance, for  comfort,  for  consolation",  should  one  play  the 
part  of  the  bombastic  Mr.  Buzfuz  or  of  Mrs.  Bardell  .•'  In 
"  The  First  Settler's  Story  ",  in  reading  the  note  which  ends, 

"  Dear,  if  a  burden  I  have  been  to  you. 
And  haven't  helped  you  as  I  ought  to  do. 
Let  old-timer  memories  my  forgiveness  plead; 
I've  tried  to  do  my  best, — I  have,  indeed. 
Darling,  piece  out  with  love  the  strength  I  lack. 
And  have  kind  words  for  me  when  I  come  back  ",* 

should  one  take  the  voice  and  attitude  of  the  First  Settler 
or  the  young  wife  .•'  In  both  cases  the  answer  is,  the  per- 
sonality of  the  first  must  not  be  lost  in  the  second.  You 
are  not  Mrs.  Bardell,  but  the  pompous  Buzfuz  imitating  Mrs. 
Bardell ;  you  are  not  the  girl-wife,  but  the  old  frontiersman 
speaking  the  words  of  his  young  wife  which  have  stung  him 
to  the  quick. 

In  description  the  problem  is  more  difficult  and  at  the 
same  time  more  important.  jNIany  of  the  most  irritating 
blunders  in  the  use  of  gestures  arise  from  taking  the  part  of 
personator  and  describer  at  the  same  time.  Is  this  not  tliQ 
trouble  in  the  following  cases  .' 

"  King  Robert,  who  was  standing  near  the  throne, 
Lifted  his  eyes,  and  lo!   he  was  alone! 

*  See  page  283. 


Ixxxviii  INIKODUC/ION 

Hut  all  apjiarclcil  as  in  ilays  of  old. 

Willi  criniiu'i!  inaiitK'  aiul  witli  vlotli  ol  L;i)l(i; 

And  wlun  his  courtiers  came,  tlu-y  louml  hini  there, 

Kncclinc;  uimn  the  lloor,  absorbed  in  silent  prayer." 

"  I  know  of  a  reader",  says  Professor  Clark,  "  who  knelt 
here." 

"  All  into  the  Valley  of  Death 
Rode  the  Six  Hundred." 

''  A  certain  reader  ",  .says  Professor  Clark,  "  lu)lds  his  hands 
as  if  driving  a  horse. "  * 

But  shouUl  one  personate  only  when  one  has  the  quoted 
words  of  the  character  to  utter  ?  That  depends  upon  the 
intensity  of  the  emotion  aroused  liy  the  description.  In 
describing  a  hall,  a  court-room,  or  an  arena,  he  surely  does 
not  personate;  he  points  out  size,  shape,  and  arrangement, 
— he  makes  indicative  gestures.  But  other  scenes  arouse  in 
him  more  emotion;  he  pities  or  hates  the  characters;  he 
desires  this  one  to  fail,  that  one  to  succeed.  So  interested 
is  he  in  their  acts  that,  as  he  looks  upon  them,  he  imitates 
their  movements;  i.e.,  he  makes  imitative  or  sympathetic 
gestures.  Sometimes  the  emotion  becomes  so  strong  that 
the  reciter  no  longer  stands  apart  from  the  scene;  he 
becomes  an  actor  in  it,  although  he  may  not  be  uttering  the 
direct  w'ords  of  the  character.  Then  and  only  then,  on 
those  rare  occasions  when  the  emotion  is  very  strong,  can 
one  properly  personate  in  description. 

Hovo  should  I  make  gestures?  First  of  all  be  consistent.  In 
descriptive  selections  there  is  always  a  picture  which  the 
speaker  tries  to  make  j)lain  to  tlie  audience.  To  do  this  he 
needs  to  see  the  picture  clearly  himself,  to  have  a  very 
definite  mental  vision.  He  should  then  lay  out  the  scene 
to  be  described  carefully  and  consistently.      In  speaking,  for 

*  Chaml)erlain  &  Clark  :  "'Principles  of  Vocal  Expression,"  p.  462, 
Scott,  Foresman  &  Co.,  Ciiicago. 


GESTURE  Ixxxix 

example,  "  The  Storming  of  Missionary  Ridge  "  (page  23), 
which  begins:  "  Imagine  a  chain  of  Federal  forts  built  in 
between  with  walls  of  living  men,  the  line  flung  northward 
out  of  sight  and  southward  beyond  Lookout",  the  reciter 
should  by  appropriate  gestures  show  on  which  side  are  the 
Federal  forts,  and  on  which  side  the  mountains;  he  should 
show  where  the  center  of  the  Federal  line  is  pushed  out,  and 
where  the  ridge  is  up  which  the  Union  forces  must  charge. 
In  referring  to  these  from  time  to  time,  the  reciter  must  be 
consistent.  If  he  places  the  rebel  line  on  the  left  in  the 
beginning,  it  is  going  to  be  confusing  if  he  suddenly  changes 
its  position  to  the  right. 

Secondly,  place  ike  imagined  scene  In  sight  of  all.  The 
principal  scene  should  be  placed  so  that  the  speaker  will  not 
have  to  turn  away  from  the  audience  and  yet  so  that  the  audi- 
ence may  see  the  principal  action.  In  this  connection  it 
may  be  said  that  seldom  can  a  speaker  afford  to  keep  his  eyes 
upon  the  imagined  scene.  He  must  never  forget  that  he  is 
speaking  to  an  audience.  Now  and  then  he  can  seem  to  be- 
come so  engrossed  in  an  exciting  description  that  he  can 
keep  his  eyes  almost  entirely  upon  the  picture.  But  gener- 
ally such  a  use  of  the  eyes  looks  affected.  In  a  large  ma- 
jority of  cases  there  is  no  better  way  of  holding  an  audience 
than  by  looking  at  them. 

Time  your  gestures  carefully.  If  gestures  come  before  or 
after  they  are  due,  they  give  the  impression  of  forming  a 
separate  scheme  outside  of  the  selection.  To  learn  to  time 
your  gestures,  practice  with  a  simple  sentence  like  the  fol- 
lowing: "See  that  team  passing  along  the  street."  You 
will  notice  here  that  you  first  look  towards  the  street,  then 
you  begin  to  move  your  hand  in  that  direction,  and  then  you 
begin  to  speak  the  words.  The  eye  anticipates  the  hand, 
the  hand  the  voice.  In  emphatic  gestures  the  final  stroke 
should  come  upon  the  accented  syllable  of  the  word  you 
wish  to  emphasize. 

Avoid  aivkwardness.     To  keep  your  gestures  from  seeming 


xc  INTRODUCTION 

Milt  aiul  awkwanl,  \(>u  lu'cil  first  of  all  to  loci  tin-  iin])ulso 
to  make  tluni  :  aiijui'lieiul  the  thought  so  tiniily  ami  feci  the 
emotion  so  keenly  that  you  cannot  help  making;  them.  See 
that  you  move  yt)ur  arm  freely.  Do  not  throw  your  elbows 
out  too  far,  neither  let  them  hup;  the  sides.  In  makinj,' 
gestures  /c/  Ihc  forearm  lead.  Also  remember  that  curved 
lines  are  gemrally  more  graceful  than  are  straight.  Here  be 
careful  not  to  overdo;  an  excess  of  arching  movements  seems 
artificial.  Do  not  spoil  the  grace  of  the  gesture  by  holding 
the  hand  stiff  and  dead;  sec  that  it  is  alive  to  the  finger-tip.«. 
(Generally  it  is  \vell  to  open  the  hand,  to  straighten  the 
lingers,  at  the  same  time  that  you  make  the  stroke  of  the 
gesture.  "  Don't",  says  Professor  Smith,  "  hold  the  hands 
as  though  you  had  bird-shot  in  each  hollow,  and  feared  that 
it  would  roll  out."  * 

Suit  the  gesture  to  the  thought  and  emotion.  Quick  move- 
ments of  the  arm  or  hand  express  thought  or  emotion  which 
is  harsh,  severe,  violent,  impetuous,  abruj)t;  slow  move- 
ments express  thought  or  emotion  which  is  gentle,  grand, 
gloomy,  cautious,  and  deliberate. 

"Aliens!  Good  God!  was  Arthur,  Duke  of  ^^'ellington, 
in  the  House  of  Lords, — and  did  he  not  start  up  and 
exclaim,  'Hold!  I  have  seen  the  aliens  do  their  duty/'  " 

"  Calm  and  unmoved  as  the  marble  walls  arouncl  him 
stood  Regulus,  the  Roman.  He  stretched  his  arm  over  that 
surging  crowd  with  a  gesture  as  proudly  imperious  as  though 
he  stood  at  the  head  of  his  own  gleaming  cohorts." 

Upward  movements  of  the  arms  are  appropriately  used  in 
speaking  of  that  which  is  above  your  point  of  view,  or  high 
in  your  estimation;  in  appealing  to  your  superiors;  in  ex- 
pressing emotions  that  are  noble  or  attractive, — righteous- 
ness, patriotism,  victory,  ])urity,  loyalty,  love. 

"  'Strip  me',  said  he,  'of  the  dejected  and  suffering 
remnant  of  my  army— take  from   me  all  that   1  have  left — 

*  Sniitli  ■  ••Reading  and  Speaking, "  j).  103.  D.  C.  Ilealli  iS;  Co.j 
Boston. 


iJllsrURE  xci 

leave  me  but  a  banner,  give  nie  but  the  means  to  phnit  il  upon 
the  viouniaiiis  of  West  Augusta,  and  I  will  yet  draw  around 
me  the  men  who  shall  lift  up  their  bleeding  country  from  the 
dust,  and  set  her  free!  '  "  See  page  216. 

"  Then  dipping  her  pen  in  the  sunlight,  will  write  in  the 
clear  blue,  above  them  all,  the  name  of  the  soldier,  the  states- 
man, the  martyr,  Toussaint  L'Ouverture.  "        See  page  309. 

"To  a  place  in  heaven  by  the  side  of  Washington  and 
Jjucoln."  See  page  6. 

"  They  tried  to  bear  him  along;  it  was  no  use;  still  he 
shouted  that  rallying  cry,  'For  France, /or  France,  Jive  la 
France,   Vive  P Evipereur!  '  "  See  page  iii. 

Downward  movements  of  the  arms  are  appropriately  used 
in  pointing  out  or  emphasizing  that  which  is  below  your 
point  of  view,  or  low  in  your  estimation;  that  over  which 
you  have  mastery;  in  expressing  emotions  that  are  disagree- 
able or  base, — defeat,  gloom,  corruption,  cowardice,  hate, 
revenge,  treachery,  brutishness. 

"Down  with  these  tyrants  of  England!  we  never  have 
sworn  them  allegiance!  Death  to  these  foreign  soldiers,  who 
seize  on  our  homes  and  our  harvests!  "  See  page  64. 

"Where  all  was  want  and  crime  and  cruelty  and  fear,  we 
see  the  faces  of  the  free. "  See  page  327. 

"  Until  a  torrent,  terrible  and  strong,  it  sweeps  to  the  abyss 
where  all  is  ruin.  "  See  page  158. 

"  But  still  he  lowered  not  his  arm,  until,  at  length,  I  held 
him,  gashed  a?id  fainting,  m  my  power."  Seepage  157. 

Movements  of  the  arms  on  a  level  with  the  chest  are 
appropriately  used  in  expressing  colloquial  discourse;  in 
speaking  of  things  on  your  plane;  to  and  of  your  associates 
and  equals. 

"  Here  by  the  peaceful  river  on  whose  shores  they  dwelt, 
amid  the  fields  that  they  sowed  and  reaped,  we  come  to  tell 
their  story. 


xcii  INTRODUCTION 

" liehoU  ihevi  here  to-day,  sharing  in  these  pious  and 
jtcaccful  rites. " 

"  It  has  ravaged  hoiv  viauy  of  our  homes  !  it  has  wrung  how 
many  of  the  hearts  before  vie  !  " 

Widening  movements  of  the  arms  arc  expressive  of  frank- 
ness, generality,  bounteousness,  hospitality,  unreservedness, 
"  We  welcome  you,  soldiers  of  \'irginia,  as  others  more 
eloquent  than  I  have  said,  to  New  England.  ll'e  ivc/cotiie 
you  to  old  J/assachusetts.  Jl'e  we/coHie  you  to  Boston  and  to 
Faneuil  Hall. ' '  See  page  247. 

"  And  ye  do  well  to  call  him  chief,  who  for  twelve  long 
years  has  met  upon  the  arena  every  shape  of  man  or  beast  the 
broad  Empire  of  Rome  could  furnish,  and  who  never  yet 
lowered  his  arm.  "  See  page  299. 

"  Orchard's  where  I'd  ruther  be — 
Needn't  fence  it  in  fer  me! 
fes'  the  ichole  sky  overhead, 
And  the  7vhole  airth  underrteath.  "      See  page  127. 

The  correct  position  of  the  hand  adds  much  to  the  ex- 
pressiveness of  the  arm  movements. 
V       The  Hand    Index    points  out,    counts,   analyzes,    warns, 
accuses,  threatens. 

"  Sign  that  parchment    or  be   ac- 
cursed forever!  " 

"Look!     There  lie  stands. " 

"  But  see!   he  has  stepped  on  the 
railing. "' 
A  The  Hand  Supine  expresses  openness,  candor,  affirmation, 

demand,  welcome,  appeal. 

"Here,    take    it — oh!     take    it    from 


me 


See  page  216.  C^^T"^ — A 

"  I  turn  to  you,  the  brothers  and  the  ^:^^    ^---7 

sons  of  those  men."  See  page  14.       ^^^^—-^ 

"  She   took    her   children    from    her    bosom    and    offered 

them,"  •  See  page  215. 


GESTURE 


\3   The   Hand   Prone  represses,    restricts,  forbids,   conceals, 
restrains,  protects,  blesses. 

"  Howl  on,  I  speak  to  thirty  mil- 
lions here. " 

"  Ha!   bind  him  on  his  back! 
*'  So — let  him  writhe!     How  long 
Will  he  live  thus  .?  " 


^^  The   Hand  Averse  expresses  repulsion, 
abhorrence,  horror,  dismay,  scorn. 

"  Now,    begone!      Prepare  the  Eternal 
City  for  our  games. ' '  See  page  158. 

"  Avaunt  and  quit  my  sight," 

The  Hand  Clenched  expresses  force,  determination,  anger, 
revenge,  malediction,  defiance. 

"  I  care  not  how  high  his  situation, 
how  low  his  character,  how  contemptible 
his  speech;  whether  a  privy  counselor  or  a 
parasite,  my  answer  ivotild  be  a  blow.  " 

Gesticulating    Exercises 

I.  Swing  clubs,  vault,  play  tennis,  fence;  gymnasts  as  a 
rule  make  graceful  gestures. 

n.  Stand  erect;  extend  the  arms  sideways  so  that  the 
hands  are  on  a  level  with  the  shoulders.  Withdraw  the 
energy  from  the  hands  so  that  they  hang  apparently  lifeless. 
Then  shake  the  arms  vigorously. 

HI.    Raising  the  arms  in  front,  proceed  as  in  Exercise  H. 

IV.  Letting  the  arms  hang  from  the  sides  as  if  lifeless,  by 
twisting  the  trunk  shake  them  vigorously. 

V.  Speaking  the  following  sentences,  make  gestures  that 
seem  to  you  appropriate. 

(i)  "  Behold  the  condemned  Claudius  and  Cynthia,  whom 
he  lately  took  for  his  wife."  See  page  268. 

(2)  "And  now,  oh!  now  look  at  those  bounding,  flam' 
jng-eyed  tigers, ' '  See  page  269, 


Miv  ISTRODUCTION 

(3)  '■  Oil.  on  111-  wiiit,  ^iiiic  one  inoinciit  aiul  in  sij;ht  tlic 
lu-xt,  »>n  up  to  the  tlaininf^  cannon  tlicnisrlvcs.  " 

Sec  p.igc  2()8. 

(4)  "  ()vcr  the  ckiid  uiul  wtjuiuictl,  ovi-r  hrcastworks  and 
fallen  foe,  over  cannon  belchinj^  forth  their  lire  of  death,  he 
led  the  way  to  victory. ' '  >^<^t;  P-'i^e  293. 

(5)  "  Go  to  Ilayti,  and  :stand  on  those  fifty  tiiousand 
graves  of  the  best  soldiers  France  ever  had,*  and  ask  thcni 
what  thev  think  of  the  negro's  sword.  ^',''  SeWp?ki,'e  30^- 

(6)  "  At  tile  turn  of  the  road  a  lian'd  waves — she  answers 
by  holding  high  in  her  loving  arms  thtt.  child.  He  is  gone 
and  forever. ' '  ^ee  page  326. 

(7)  "  If,  then,  you  ask,  why  I  have  come  back,  to  let 
vou  work  your  will  on  this  poor. body  which  I  esteem  but 
as  the  rags  that  cover  it, — enough  reply  for  you,  it  is"  because 
I  am  a  Roman!  As  such,  here  in  your  very  capital  I  defy 
you  I " ' 

(8)  "  Go!   bring  your  threatened  tortures!  " 

(9)  "  If  you  could  touch  those  bronze  lij)s  with  thq,fire 
of  speech,  what  do  you  think  they  would  say  .^  They  i^evcr 
said  '  yield  '  in  their  life.  "  ^ee  page  13. 

(10)  "  The  new  South  is  enamoured  of  her  new  work. 
As  she  stands  upright,  full  statured  and  equal,  amocig  the 
people  of  the  earth,  breathing  the  keen  air  and  looking  out 
upon  the  expanded  horizon,  she  understands  that  her 
emancipation  came  because,  in  the  inscrutable  wisdom  of 
God,  her  honest  purpose  was  crossed  and  her  brave  armies 
were  beaten.  "  See  page  314. 

(11)  "New  England  Civilization  said  to  Slavery,  'thus 
far  and  no  farther  forever, '  and  when  in  its  insolence  it  over- 
stepped the  bounds,  seized  it  by  the  throat  and  throttled  it 
to  the  death!  "  See  page  5. 


PREPARATION  FOR  READING   Al\D  SPEAKING       xcv 


PREPARATION   FOR    READING   AND   SPEAKING 

Thorough  preparation  for  reading  and  speaking  means 
primarily  care  for  the  body.  To  stand  the  stress  and  strain 
of  our  complex  life,  to  achieve  much  of  anything  in  business, 
scholarship,  statesmanship,  law,  or  medicine,  a  man  must 
be  first  of  all  a  healthy  animal.  He  must  have  steady 
nerves,  "lungs  like  bull's  hide",  a  heart  like  clockwork, 
and  a  stomach  that  will  grind  its  grist  even  when  he  is  doing 
his  hardest  task.  Especially  true  is  this  of  the  person  who 
undertakes  such  exhaustive  work  as  swaying  large  audiences, 
— of  the  lawyer,  the  preacher,  the  statesman,  the  orator. 
Leaders  in  these  professions  have  as  a  rule  been  men  of 
powerful  physiques,  of  exuberant  vitality,  and  of  phenomenal 
endurance;  such  were  Lincoln,  Webster,  Gladstone,  Beecher, 
and  Brooks.  The  young  man,  then,  who  wills  to  influence 
men  and  women  in  public  speech,  must  live  much  in  the 
open  air,  play  baseball  and  tennis,  row  and  swim,  play  golf 
and  ride  a  bicycle,  and  work  and  sleep  in  rooms  that  have  a 
good  supply  of  sunshine  and  oxygen.  Seldom  in  college 
does  a  man  with  shaky  nerves  or  poor  digestion  win  a  prize 
in  declamation  or  debate;  much  more  often  the  winner  is 
an  athlete.  In  the  world  at  large,  other  things  equal, 
influence  and  following  are  won  by  the  speaker  physically 
strong. 

J?est.  A  person  when  he  speaks  should  be  well  rested. 
Many  a  preacher  has  learned  from  an  experience  dearly 
bought  that  the  exhaustive  work  of  sermon-writing  on 
Saturday  evening  is  poor  preparation  for  effective  speaking 
on  Sunday.  After  a  sleep  crowded  with  dreams  of  appearing 
before  an  audience  sans  neck-tic,  collar,  coat,  or  manuscript, 
a  preacher  is  in  no  mental  or  physical  condition  to  speak 
persuasively.  Try  to  be  in  earnest  as  he  may,  his  voice  tells 
the  tale  of  depleted  nervous  force.  The  preacher  should 
have   his   sermon    ready    for    delivery    by    Saturday    noon,. 


xcvi  IMKODUCJJO.\' 

Saturday  afternoon  ho  sliouKl  "  loaf  ",  read  Mr.  Dooley,  go 
sailing  or  fishing,  do  sonuthing  that  will  recreate  his  mind 
and  rest  his  nerves.  AVhat  is  true  of  the  j)reacher  is  also  true 
of  the  lawyer,  lecturer,  and  public  speaker  of  every  sort. 
School  boys  and  girls  should  not  rehearse  their  declamations 
tlic  day  on  which  they  speak;  neither  should  they  engage  in 
fatiguing  work  or  play.  College  students  who  have  learned 
their  declamations  thoroughly  sometimes  fail  at  the  last 
moment  because  of  being  physically  tired,  A  game  of  base- 
ball or  too  long  a  walk  has  so  wearied  them  that  their 
memories  j)lay  them  false.  "An  English  lecturer  relates 
that  at  the  beginning  of  his  career  he  was  forced  to  walk 
from  one  town  to  another  in  filling  his  engagements.  He 
found  that  if  he  lectured  on  the  evening  following  a  long 
walk  his  memory  invariably  proved  treacherous.  It  was 
only  after  repeated  failures  that  he  came  to  realize  the  con- 
nection between  weariness  and  loss  of  memory."  * 

Practice.  A  sprinter  or  oarsman  would  not  think  of 
entering  a  race  without  previous  training.  Every  day  he 
practices  that  he  may  get  the  right  start  and  may  not  lose 
his  wind  at  the  critical  moment.  He  can  thus  make  a 
supreme  exertion  without  injury.  Public  speaking  is  as 
exacting  as  a  race.  To  speak  effectively  two  or  three  hours 
a  man  must  train.  The  reason,  HuUah  says,  why  the  voices 
of  many  clergymen  fail  is  not  that  they  use  their  voices  too 
much;  they  use  them  too  little,  but  they  do  not  use  them 
regularly.  They  enter  a  two-mile  race  on  Sunday  without 
having  run  a  lap  on  the  six  preceding  days.  To  keep  the 
vocal  organs  at  their  best  and  to  gain  control  of  the  agents 
of  expression,  one  should  use  the  voice  in  reading,  speaking, 
or  singing  an  hour  or  so  every  day. 

*  Koopman's  "  Mastery  of  Books,"  p.  84.    American  Book  Co.,  Boston. 

"  Sir  Henry  Holland  lias  recorded  that,  after  an  exhausting  exploration 
of  a  mine  in  Germany,  he  found  himself  no  longer  able  to  speak  German 
with  his  guide  ;  and  not  until  he  had  taken  rest  and  refreshment  did  he 
recover  his  memory  of  the  language." — Ibid. 


FREPAR/1TI0N  FOR  READING   AND  SPEAKING  xcvii 

Thorough  preparation  also  means  mental  and  spiritual 
training.  The  messenger  must  have  a  message.  There 
must  be  behind  the  voice  an  intellect  to  think  and  a  heart 
to  feel.  However  clear  the  articulation,  graceful  and  apt 
the  gestures,  pure  and  resonant  the  quality,  the  expression 
is  ineffective  unless  vitalized  by  intellect  and  inspired  by 
emotion.  "  People  go  to  schools  of  oratory  with  nothing 
within  themselves  which  is  clamorous  for  expression;  not 
even  a  very  '  still  small  voice  '  urging  them  to  express  some- 
thing. Many  who  desire,  or  think  they  do,  to  be  readers, 
as  there  are  many  who  desire,  or  think  they  do,  to  be  artists, 
evidently  believe  that  if  they  be  trained  in  technique  they 
can  be  readers  or  artists. 

' '  But  suppose  some  one  is  impelled  to  cultivate  vocal  power 
because  of  his  desire  to  express  what  he  has  sympathetically 
and  lovingly  assimilated,  of  a  work  of  genius:  if  he  endeavor 
to  give  an  honest  expression,  so  far  as  in  him  lies,  to  what 
he  feels,  and  avoid  trying  to  express  what  he  does  not  feel, 
and  if  he  persevere  in  his  endeavor,  with  always  a  coefTicient 
ideal  back  of  his  reading,  he  may — in  time  he  certainly  will 
— become  a  better  reader  than  another  could  if  he  should 
set  out,  with  malice  prepense,  to  be  an  elocutionist,  and, 
with  that  malicious  purpose,  were  to  employ  a  mere  voice- 
trainer  who  should  teach  him  to  perpetrate  all  sorts  of  vocal 
extravagances,  to  make  faces,  and  to  gesticulate  when  reading 
what  does  not  need  any  gesture.  Such  an  one,  after  passing 
out  of  the  hands  of  his  trainer,  is  most  likely  to  go  forth  and 
afflict  the  public  with  his  performances,  which  will  be  wholly 
a  pitiable  exhibition  of  himself. 

' '  Some  of  the  best  readers  I  have  ever  known  have  been 
of  the  former  class,  who  honestly  voiced  what  they  had 
sympathetically  assimilated,  and  did  not  strain  after  effect. 
But  it  seems  when  one  sets  out  to  read,  with  no  interior 
capital,  he  or  she,  especially  she,  is  apt  to  run  into  all  kinds 
of  extravagances  which  disgust  people  of  culture  and  taste. 


x.viii  INTRODUCTION 

TIk"  Voice,  in^tt•a^l  of  bi-iiiL,'  tlu-  organ  of  the  soul,  is  the 
boiraycr  of  soullcssncss. 

"  Williout  the  interior  life  that  can  respond  to  the  in- 
definite life  of  a  work  of  genius  (indefinite,  that  is,  to  the 
intellect),  a  trained  voice  can  do  nt)thing  of  itself  in  the  way 
of  real  interpretation."  * 

How  can  a  person  aciiuire  this  j)ower  to  lay  hold  of  the 
thought  and  respond  to  the  emotion  of  a  literary  master- 
piece ?  In  general,  by  a  thorough  mental  and  spiritual 
training;  toughening  the  mental  fiber  by  wrestling  with 
l)roblenis  in  Euclid,  strengthening  the  memory  and  the 
power  of  expression  by  conning  the  Latin  grammar  and 
translating  Ccesar's  "  Commentaries  ",  sharpening  the  powers 
of  observation  and  discrimination  by  research  with  the  test- 
tube,  the  scalpel,  and  the  microscope,  developing  a  love  for 
the  true  and  an  appreciation  of  the  noble  and  the  masterful 
by  "  brooding  for  the  thousandth  time  "  over  Homer,  Dante, 
Shakespere,  ami  ^lilton. 

In  particular  cases,  to  get  firm  hold  of  the  thought,  the 
reader  should  know  his  lines  thoroughly;  he  should  be 
certain  of  the  meaning  of  the  words  and  the  construction  of 
the  sentences — an  absurdly  simple  suggestion,  yet  not  so 
obvious  that  it  is  always  observed.  Boys  and  girls  some- 
times speak 

'•  Archoiis  of  Athens,  topped  by   the  tettix,  see,  I  return  !  " 

who  haven't  guessed  the  meaning  of  "  tettix  ";   or 

"Unhand  me,  gentlemen. 
By  heaven,  I'll  make  a  ghost  of  him  who  let's  me  !  " 

who  have  given  an  entirely  wrong  meaning  to  "lets". 
They  read  "I  prevented  the  dawning  of  the  morning", 
entirely  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  "  prevented  "  means  not 

♦Corson  :  "The  Voice  and  Spiritual  Education,"  p.  ii6.  The  Mac- 
inilian  Company,  New  York. 


PREPARATION  FOR  READING  AND  SPEAKING    xcix 

"hindered"  or  "obstructed"  but  "  anticipated  ".  They 
read 

"  Crowned  with  the  myrtle,  did  you  command  me,  Athens  and  you  ?  " 

without  having  decided  whether  ' '  crowned  ' '  refers  to 
**  you  "  or  "  me  ". 

Secondly,  the  reader  or  speaker  should  understand  the 
significance  of  the  allusions.  In  reading  "  Pheidippides  ", 
he  should  know  who  Pan  was  and  why  ' '  fennel  ' '  is  spoken 
of;  in  speaking  "A  Tribute  to  General  Sherman",  he 
should  know  why  Hotspur  is  referred  to  as  restless,  Fabius 
as  patient,  Caesar's  Tenth  Legion  as  dashing;  or  in  speaking 
"  American  Battle  Flags  ",  he  should  understand  the  signifi- 
cance of  Villagos  to  the  Hungarian,  Vendee  to  the  French 
soldier,  and  Culloden  to  the  Scotch  Highlander. 

Thirdly,  the  reader  should  read  around  the  subject.  He 
should  know  thoroughly  the  circumstances  under  which  the 
poem  was  written,  the  oration  delivered.  He  should  be 
well  acquainted  with  the  story  told  or  the  scene  described. 

"  Sheridan's  Ride  .'  "  said  a  listener  to  a  public  reader  in 
England,  "  Sheridan's  ride  to  where  ?  " 

"Oh,"  replied  the  reader  with  some  confusion,  "Sheri- 
dan's ride  to — to — to  Bunker  Hill,  I  think." 

It  surely  is  not  enough  for  pupils  who  would  declaim 
intelligently  to  confine  their  reading  to  the  short  selections 
given  in  the  Speakers.  The  boy  who  would  speak  under- 
standingly  the  declamation  on  page  io6,  for  example,  must 
do  more  than  memorize  this  small  portion  of  Webster's 
famous  reply  to  Hayne;  he  should  read  carefully  the  entire 
speech,  also  Senator  Lodge's  lucid  account  of  all  the  cir- 
cumstances under  which  this  speech  was  delivered.* 

Such  careful  study  of  the  words,  constructions,  allusions, 
and  circumstances  of  an  oration  or  poem  will  enable  the 
reader  or  speaker  to  distinguish  between  the  principal  and 

*  See  Lodge's  '•  D;ii)iel  Webster." 


C  INTRODUCTION 

the  subordinate,  ;\nil  tlms  to  make  liis  expression  more  in- 
telligent. For  in  no  way  tloes  a  person  reveal  his  ignorance 
or  knowledge  of  a  piece  of  literature  more  completely  than 
by  reading  it  aloud. 

Again,  an  effective  speaker  or  reader  must  be  in  earnest; 
he  must  be  able  to  lay  hold  of  the  emotion. 

"  Tt)  tliii  OIK-  stand.ird  make  your  ju^t  appeal, 
Here  lies  tlic  golden  secret  :    Learn  to  feel." 

How  is  he  to  learn  to  feel  ?  It  is  not  enough  for  him  to 
say,  "  I  will  be  in  earnest  ".  An  attempt  to  put  on  emotion 
from  the  outside  is  liable  to  result  in  bombast  and  in  dis- 
gusting contortions  of  face  and  limbs.  Genuine  emotion 
must  come  from  within.  It  means  real  interest  in  the 
subject  discussed,  the  scene  described.  This  interest  may 
be  aroused  first  by  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  events 
spoken  of.  the  characters  depicted.  In  real  life  our  passing 
pity  for  the  man  who  asks  our  aid  is  changed  into  per- 
manent, genuine  interest  and  sympathy,  by  our  knowing 
more  about  him,  his  struggles,  his  home  life,  his  desires  to 
be  and  to  do  something.  In  the  same  ma»ner  genuine 
interest  may  be  aroused  in  fictitious  and  historical  characters 
and  events,  A  boy  cannot  expect  to  declaim  with  real 
earnestness  "  The  Last  of  the  Roman  Tribunes  "  *  before  he 
has  read  the  whole  of  Lord  Lytton's  "  Rienzi  ".  Not  long 
ago  I  commended  to  a  student  looking  for  a  declamation  to 
speak  in  a  prize  contest,  Curtis's  "  Eulogy  on  Sumner  ".f 
At  first  he  thought  it  a  bit  tame.  But  after  he  had  read 
more  about  Sumner,  of  his  conflicts,  his  ideals  and  achieve- 
ments, he  began  to  see  how  great  an  oration  this  really  i:^. 
No  longer  was  it  tame;  those  magnificent  periods  thrilled 
with  life.  He  understood  the  significance  of  such  sentences 
as  these:  "  How  the  stately  and  gracious  and  all-accom- 
plished  man   seemed  the   very  personification  of  that   new 

*  See  page  342,        |  See  page  136, 


PREPARATION  FOR  READING  AND  SPEAKING        ci 

union  for  which  he  had  so  manfully  striven,  and  whose 
coming  his  dying  eyes  beheld — the  union  of  ever  wider 
liberty  and  juster  law, — the  America  of  comprehensive  in- 
telligence and  moral  power!  For  that  he  stands;  up  to  that 
his  imperishable  memory,  like  the  words  of  his  living  lips, 
forever  lifts  us — lifts  us  to  his  own  great  faith  in  America 
and  man."  And  because  he  saw  their  real  meaning  and 
importance,  he  spoke  them  with  an  unfeigned  earnestness. 

Moreover,  to  lay  hold  of  this  emotion  it  is  often  well  to 
paraphrase.  The  ordinary  paraphrase  ranks  low  as  a  literary 
product;  when  repeated  aloud  it  seems  flabby,  common,  or 
artificial;  but  it  may  often  be  useful.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
boys  and  girls  read  and  recite  selections,  especially  lines  of 
poetry,  with  no  more  idea  of  the  meaning  of  some  of  the 
phrases  or  realization  of  their  significance  than  had  the  man 
in  one  of  George  Eliot's  novels  of  the  meaning  of  those  sen- 
tences which  he  found  so  much  comfort  in  repeating: 
*'  Sihon,  King  of  the  Amorites,  for  His  mercy  endureth  for- 
ever. And  Og,  King  of  Bashan,  for  His  mercy  endureth 
forever."     A  full  paraphrase  quickly  stops  such  parroting. 

Furthermore,  the  reader  in  learning  to  feel  true  emotion 
should  use  his  imagination.  By  dwelling  upon  the  thought 
and  seeing  the  picture  vividly,  or  by  appealing  to  his  own 
experience,  a  reader  may  be  able  to  respond  to  the  emotion 
genuinely  and  thus  overcome  an  indifference  fatal  to  effective 
expression.  It  is  only  by  holding  the  truth  before  the  mind 
and  looking  at  it  from  all  sides  that  we  can  feel  its  true  sig- 
nificance and  be  dominated  by  its  power. 

And  after  all  the  heart  of  the  whole  matter  is  this:  a  man 
cannot  express  more  than  he  is.  A  man  of  small  soul 
cannot  express  great  emotion.  "  Eloquence  is  a  virtue 
almost  as  much  as  an  art."  He  then  who  would  express 
exalted  emotions  should  cherish  firm  convictions  and  high 
ideals;  he  should  "  cultivate  above  all  things  love  and 
truth  "  and  "  avoid  like  poison  the  fleeting  and  the  false  ". 


RAY'S   RIDE 

(Abridged) 

By  Charles  King,  Army  Officer,  Professor  of  Military  Science  and  Tac- 
tics, Descriptive  Writer,  Novelist.      Born  at  Albany,  N.  V.,  1844. 

Reprinted,  by  permission  of  the  publishers,  from  "  Marion's  Faith,"  copyright,  1886, 
by  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  Philadelphia. 

Darkness  has  settled  down  in  the  shadowy  Wyoming 
Valley.  By  the  light  of  a  tiny  fire  under  the  bank  some 
twenty  forms  can  be  seen  stretched  upon  the  sand ;  they  are 
wounded  soldiers.  A  little  distance  away  are  nine  others, 
shrouded  in  blankets;  they  are  the  dead.  Crouching  among 
the  timber,  vigilant  but  weary,  dispersed  in  a  big,  irregular 
circle  around  the  beleaguered  bivouac,  some  sixty  soldiers 
are  still  on  the  active  list.  All  around  them,  vigilant  and 
vengeful,  lurk  the  Cheyennes.  Every  now  and  then  the  bark 
as  of  a  coyote  is  heard, — a  yelping,  querulous  cry, — and  it 
is  answered  far  across  the  valley  or  down  the  stream.  There 
is  no  moon;  the  darkness  is  intense,  though  the  starlight  is 
clear,  and  the  air  so  still  that  the  galloping  hoofs  of  the 
Cheyenne  ponies  far  out  on  the  prairie  sound  close  at 
hand. 

"  That's  what  makes  it  hard,"  says  Ray,  who  is  bending 
over  the  prostrate  form  of  Captain  Wayne.  "If  it  were 
storming  or  blowing,  or  something  to  deaden  the  hoof-beats, 
I  could  make  it  easier;  but  it's  the  only  chance."' 

The  only  chance  of  what  ? 

When  the  sun  went  down  upon  Wayne's  timber  citadel, 
and  the  final  account  of  stock  was  taken  for  the  day,  it  \\as 
found  that  with  one  fourth  of  the  command,  men  and  horses, 


2  CH.-IRl.rS   k'lS'(] 

killed  and  wouiuicd  tlu-rc  wore  kft  n^t  more  than  three 
hun(lred  cartriilges,  all  told,  to  enable  sonic  sixty  men  to 
hold  out  until  relief  could  come  ap^ainst  an  enemy  encircling 
them  on  every  side,  and  who  had  t)nly  to  send  over  to  the 
neighboring  reservation — fi)rty  miles  away — and  get  all  the 
cartridges  they  wanted. 

They  cou/i/  cut  through,  of  course,  and  race  up  the  vallev 
to  f.nd  the  — th,  but  they  would  have  to  leave  the  wountied 
and  the  dismounted  behind — to  death  by  torture;  so  that 
ended  the  matter.  (Jnly  one  thing  remained.  In  some 
way,  by  some  means,  word  must  be  carried  to  the  regi- 
ment. 

I.ieut.  Ray  had  been  around  the  rifle-pits  taking  observa- 
tions. Presently  he  returned,  leading  Dandy,  his  sagacious 
horse,  up  near  the  fire — the  one  sheltered  light  that  was 
permitted. 

Captain  \\'ayne  looked  up  startled. 

"  Ray,  I  can't  let  you  go!  " 

"  There's  no  helping  it.  Some  one  mus/  go,  and  whom 
can  you  send  .'  " 

Wayne  was  silent.  Ray  had  spoken  truth.  Tliere  was 
no  one  whom  he  could  order  to  risk  death  in  breaking  his 
way  out  since  the  scout  had  said  'twas  useless.  There  were 
brave  men  there  who  would  gladly  try  it  had  they  any  skill 
in  such  matters,  but  that  was  lacking.  "  If  any  man  in  the 
command  could  'make  it,'  that  man  was  Ray."  He  was 
cool,  daring,  keen;  he  was  their  best  and  lightest  rider,  and 
no  one  so  well  knew  the  country  or  better  knew  the 
Cheyennes. 

Ray  flung  aside  his  scouting-hat,  knotted  the  silk  hand- 
kerchief he  took  fiom  his  throat,  so  as  to  confine  the  dark 
hair  that  came  tumbling  almost  into  his  eyes,  buckled  the 
holster-belt  tightly  round  his  waist,  looked  doubtfully  an 
instant  at  his  spurs,  but  decided  to  keep  them  on. 

Three  minutes  more  and  the  watchers  at  the  edge  of  the 
timber  have  seen  him,  leading  Dandy  by  the  bridle,  slowly, 


RAY'S  RIDE  3 

Stealthily,  creeping  out  into  the  darkness;  a  moment  the 
forms  of  man  and  horse  are  outlined  against  the  stars;  then 
are  swallowed  up  in  the  night.  Hunter  and  the  sergeants 
with  him  grasp  their  carbines  and  lie  prone  upon  the  turf, 
watching,  waiting. 

In  the  bivouac  is  the  stillness  of  death.  Ten  soldiers, 
carbine  in  hand,  mounted  on  their  unsaddled  steeds,  are 
waiting  in  the  darkness  at  the  upper  rifle-pits  for  Hunter's 
signal.  If  he  shout,  every  man  is  to  yell  and  break  for  the 
front.  Otherwise,  all  is  to  remain  quiet.  Back  at  the 
watch-fire  under  the  bank  Wayne  is  squatting,  watch  in  one 
hand,  pistol  in  the  other.  Near  by  lie  the  wounded,  still  as 
their  comrades  just  beyond — the  dead.  All  around  among 
the  trees  and  in  the  sand-pits  up-  and  down-stream,  fourscore 
men  are  listening  to  the  beating  of  their  own  hearts.  In 
the  distance,  too,  are  the  gleams  of  Indian  fires,  but  they  are 
far  beyond  the  positions  occupied  by  the  besieging  warriors. 
Darkness  shrouds  them.  Far  aloft  the  stars  are  twinkling 
through  the  cool  and  breezeless  air.  With  wind,  or  storm, 
or  tempest,  the  gallant  fellow  whom  all  hearts  are  following 
would  have  something  to  favor,  something  to  aid ;  but  in 
this  almost  cruel  stillness  nothing  under  God  can  help  him 
— nothing  but  darkness  and  his  own  brave  spirit. 

His  footfall  is  soft  as  a  kitten's  as  he  creeps  out  upon  the 
prairie;  Dandy  stepping  after  him,  wondering  but  obedient. 
For  over  a  hundred  yards  he  goes,  until  both  up-  and  down- 
stream he  can  almost  see  the  faint  fires  of  the  Indians  in  the 
timber. 

The  thing  is  to  get  as  far  through  them  as  possible  before 
being  seen  or  heard,  then  mount  and  away.  After  another 
two  minutes'  creeping  he  peers  over  the  western  bank.  Now 
the  fires  up-stream  can  be  seen  in  the  timber,  and  dim, 
shadowy  forms  pass  and  repass.  Then  close  at  hand  come 
voices  and  hoof-beats.  Dandy  pricks  up  his  ears  and  wants 
to  neigh,  but  Ray  grips  his  nostrils  like  a  vice,  and  Dandy 
desists.      At  rapid  lope,  within  twenty  yards,  a  party  of  half 


4  lh.-iru:s  king 

a  dozen  warriors  go  houmling  past  on  their  way  clown  the 
valley,  and  no  sooner  have  they  crossed  the  gully  than  he 
rises  and  rapidly  pushes  on  up  the  dry  sandy  bed.  Thank 
heaven!  there  are  no  stones.  A  minute  more  and  he  is 
crawling  again,  for  the  hoof-bcats  no  longer  drown  the  faint 
sound  of  Dandy's  movements.  A  few  seconds  more  and 
right  in  front  of  him,  not  a  stone's  throw  away,  he  hears  the 
deep  tones  of  Indian  voices  in  conversation.  Whoever  they 
jnay  be  they  are  in  the  "  cooley  "  and  watching  the  prairie. 
Thev  can  see  nothing  of  him,  nor  he  of  them.  Pass  them 
in  the  ten-foot-widc  ravine  he  cannot.  Turning  stealthily  he 
brings  Dandy  around,  leads  back  down  the  ravine  some 
thirty  yards,  then  turns  to  his  horse,  pats  him  gently  one 
minute,  springs  lightly,  noiselessly,  to  his  back,  and  at 
cautious  walk  comes  up  on  the  prairie.  He  bends  down  on 
Dandy's  neck,  intent  with  eye  and  ear.  He  feels  that  he 
has  got  well  out  east  of  the  Indian  picket  unchallenged, 
when  suddenly  voices  and  hoofs  come  bounding  uj)  the 
valley  from  below.  He  must  cross  their  front,  reach  the 
ravine  before  them,  and  strike  the  prairie  beyond.  "(Jo, 
Dandy!  "  he  mutters  with  gentle  pressure  of  leg;  and  the 
sorrel  bounds  lightly  away,  circling  southwestward  under  the 
guiding  rein.  Another  minute  and  he  is  at  the  arroya  and 
cautiously  descending,  then  scrambling  up  the  west  bank ; 
and  then  from  the  darkness  comes  a  savage  challenge,  a  sputter 
of  pony  hoofs.  Ray  bends  low  and  gives  Dandy  one  vigor- 
ous prod  with  the  spur,  and  with  muttered  prayer  ami 
clinched  teeth  and  fists  he  leaps  into  the  wildest  race  for  his 
life. 

Bang!  bang!  go  two  shots  close  behind  him.  Crack  i  goes 
his  pistol  at  a  dusky  form  closing  in  on  his  right.  Then 
come  yells,  shots,  the  uproar  of  hoofs,  the  distant  cheer  and 
charge  at  camp,  a  breathless  dash  for  and  close  along  under 
the  bluffs  where  his  form  is  best  concealed,  a  whirl  to  the 
left  into  the  first  ravine  that  shows  itself,  and,  despite  shots 
and  shouts  and  nimble  ponies  and  vengeful  foes,  the  Sandford 


NEIV  HNGMND   CiyiLlZATlON  5 

colors  arc  riding  far  to  the  front,  and  ail   the  racers  of  the 
reservations  cannot  overhaul  them. 


NEW   ENGLAND    CIVILIZATION 

By  William  Pierce  Frye,  Lawyer;  Member  of  Congress  from  Maine, 
1871-81;  Senator,  1881 — .     Bom  in  Lewiston,  Maine,  1831. 

From  an  address  delivered  at  a  meeting  of  the  New  England  Society  of  Philadelphia, 
Dec.  22,  1881. 

Centuries  ago,  on  the  rock-bound  coast  of  Massachusetts 
Bay,  one  night  there  was  a  wedding.  The  sky  was  the  roof 
that  covered  the  high  contracting  parties,  and  the  stars, 
painted  by  the  finger  of  God,  were  the  fresco-work;  the 
music  was  that  of  the  singing  night-bird  and  the  surge  of  the 
gray  old  ocean;  the  bidden  guests  were  the  Puritan  fathers 
and  the  Puritan  mothers;  the  unbidden  guests  were  the 
dusky  savages;  the  bride  and  the  bridegroom  were  the  meet- 
ing-house and  the  schoolhouse,  and  from  that  marriage 
there  was  born  a  child.  They  christened  it  New  England 
Civilization.  New  England  Civilization,  inspired  by  the 
Bible  and  the  schoolbook,  what  a  power  it  has  been  in  this 
Republic!  New  England  Civilization,  the  only  power  that 
dared  cry  a  halt  to  advancing  barbarism ;  that  said  to  slavery, 
"  thus  far  and  no  farther  forever,"  and  when  in  its  insolence 
it  overstepped  the  bounds,  seized  it  by  the  throat  and 
throttled  it  to  the  death!  New  England  Civilization,  the 
inspiration  of  every  great  enterprise,  of  every  marvelous  in- 
vention, of  every  grand  forward  and  upward  move  of  man 
and  mind  in  this  country!  New  England  Civilization,  that 
planted  on  every  hill  a  church,  and  in  every  valley  a  school- 
house  with  its  open  door!  New  England  Civilization,  that 
living  spirit  which  opened  up  to  every  boy  in  the  land  such 
splendid  opportunities,  such  glittering  possibilities;  that 
raised  a  ladder,  its  base  on  the  earth,  its  top  in  heaven,  and 
encouraged  the  barefooted  boy  of  the  West  to  mount,  by  the 
round  of  the  canal-boat,  by  the  round  of  the  academy,  by 


6  Hllll.-IM    rilRCl:    IKYl- 

(he  rouiul  of  tljc  C(.>lk'gc',  bv  the  round  of  the  teaLlier's  desk, 
by  the  round  of  the  war  for  equal  rights,  l)y  the  round  of  the 
House  i>f  Representatives,  by  the  round  of  the  Senate,  by 
tljc  round  of  the  Presidency,  by  tlie  round  of  a  perfect  hfc, 
a  patient  sickness  and  heroic  death,  to  a  place  in  heaven  by 
the  side  of  Washington  and  Lincoln.  Religion  and  educa- 
tion, love  of  Ciod  and  regard  for  man, — this  is  the  secret  of 
New  England's  strength  in  the  nation. 

But,  Mr.  President,  have  we  finished  the  fight  ?  May  we 
lay  the  armor  off  and  hang  the  sword  on  its  peg  ?  "  Eternal 
vigilance  is  the  price  of  liberty."  For  a  century  we  were 
sluggards,  seemed  to  sleep,  and  barbarism  grew  stronger  and 
stronger  until  we  awoke,  then  it  slunk  back.  Dead  .'  No, 
only  waiting  for  its  opportunity.  There  is  an  old  story  of  a 
giant  who  had  lived  for  fifty  years  a  cruel,  wicked  life,  then 
repented,  and,  to  do  works  meet  for  repentance,  built  him 
a  little  hut  by  the  side  of  a  broad,  bridgeless  river,  and 
carried  ever}'  passing  traveler  across  the  stream  on  his 
shoulders.  One  dark,  tempestuous  night  a  child  knocked 
at  his  door,  and  asked  to  be  carried  over.  The  giant  took 
him  on  his  broad  shoulders,  nothing  but  a  feather's  weight 
to  him,  marched  boldly  out  into  the  darkness  and  the 
stream;  but  as  he  maiched  on  the  burden  grew  heavy  and 
heavier,  until  at  last  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  and  his  burden 
must  sink  forever  beneath  the  terrible  waves.  Of  a  sudden 
he  looked  up  and  found  that  he  was  bearing  the  Christ  Child, 
immediately  he  received  Christ's  strength,  and  bore  him 
safely  to  the  other  shore.  From  that  day  he  has  been  known 
as  Saint  Christopher,  the  Christ-bearer.  Now  we  took  this 
blessed  Republic  upon  our  strong  shoulders,  agreeing  to 
carry  it  in  honor  and  safety,  through  peace  and  war,  through 
prosperity  and  adversity,  through  brightness  and  darkness, 
through  calm  and  tempest.  To  us  it  was  a  mere  feather's 
weight,  and  we  boldly  bore  it  along;  but  it  grew  heavy  and 
heavier,  until  right  in  the  darkness  and  tempest  of  terrible 
civil  war  it  seemed  to  us  that  we  and  the  Republic  must  sink 


THE   DE/iTH   OF  CHARLES    THE  NINTH  7 

forever  beneath  the  waves.  Then,  and  for  the  first  time,  in 
the  Proclamation  of  Emancipation  by  the  immortal  Lincoln, 
we  looked  up,  found  that  we  were  carrying,  not  slavery,  but 
justice,  freedom,  equal  rights,  all  of  them  children  of  Christ; 
and  immediately  we  received  his  strength,  and  have  been 
nobly  bearing  our  burden  on  towards  safety.  The  haven 
has  not  yet  been  reached.  By  demands  of  business,  by  for- 
getfulness  of  history,  by  appeals  for  conciliation,  by  necessi- 
ties of  party,  by  weariness  of  strife,  by  longings  for  rest,  by 
every  temptation,  we  are  enticed  once  more  to  look  down. 

Sons  of  New  England,  look  not  down;  it  is  full  of  deadly 
peril.  Stand  on  the  watchtowers  of  civilization,  and  cease- 
lessly cry  out  to  the  people,  "  Oh,  look  not  down!  "  Sons 
of  New  England,  in  pulpit,  at  teacher's  desk,  in  professor's 
chair,  in  the  Halls  of  Congress,  on  the  bench,  in  the  count- 
ing-room, in  the  shop,  by  the  loom,  on  the  farm,  wherever 
you  may  be,  at  home  or  abroad,  in  the  name  of  your  fathers' 
God,  for  the  sake  of  the  precious  Republic,  cry  out  to  the 
people,  "  Look  up,  look  up!  "  and  looking  up,  they  will  ever 
see  that  they  are  bearing  a  Republic,  founded  in  justice, 
liberty,  and  equal  rights.  Seeing  and  remembering,  they 
will  have  God's  help,  and  our  country  shall  be  saved. 

THE    DEATH    OF   CHARLES   THE    NINTH 

By  Maude  Moore,  Poet,  Story-writer.     Burn  in  Warren,  Maine,  1849. 

From  "Songs  of  Sunshine  and  Shadow,"  published  by  The  Lothrop  Publishing 
Company,  Boston. 

It  was  a  festal  day  in  Paris.  Since  early  morning  had  the  streets 
been  filled  with  hurrying  multitudes;  but  as  the  sun  went  down,  and  all 
the  thousand  lamps  of  the  great  city  were  lighted,  the  festivities  were  laid 
aside,  for  a  messenger  had  come  from  the  Palace  bringing  word  that  the 
young  king  was  dying.  Slowly  the  gathered  throng  dispersed,  till, 
instead  of  the  vast  multitudes  that  so  lately  thronged  the  streets,  the 
city  was  silent  and  deserted. 

Within  an  upper  chamber  lay  the  king. 

His  white  face,  'gainst  the  pillow  scarce  as  white. 


M.4UDF.    MOOR/: 

(ilcanuil  gha.stly — lip  ami  hand  aiul  l)ro\v 

Were  (.hilling  with  the  icy  touch  of  him 

Who  comes  but  once — who  comes  alike  to  all. 

About  the  room  the  waxen  tapers  tall 

Lit  up  the  shailow.^^,  while  the  black-robed  priests 

Stood  rouml  the  cmich  with  "  Host  and  C'rncifi.v," 

The  ceremonial  of  the  sacrament. 

But  the  king  sees  them  not;   his  soul  is  back 

With  the  i)ast  years — lie  wliisi)ers!      lla!   he  dreams! 

He  sees  the  streets  of  Paris  all  aglow 

With  gleaming  fire  of  the  torch  and  lamp; 

lie  stands  beside  his  window — from  below 

Thro'  all  the  streets  he  hears  the  ceaseless  tramp 

Of  armed  men — the  crash  of  arms — the  cry 

Of  gathering  forces;  on  the  midnight  air 

He  hears  the  wild,  wild  accents  of  despair 

In  groans  and  curses,  as  the  throng  go  by; 

And  'bove  them  all,  o'er  every  sight  and  sound 

He  hears  the  bell  of  St.  Germain  slow  toll 

The  signal  for  the  massacre; — the  ground 

Beneath  his  feet  is  red  with  blood:  the  roll 

Of  musketry  is  drowned  in  dying  groans! 

Within  the  chamber  still  the  dark-robed  priests 

Move  noiselessly;  from  out  his  fever  dream 

The  king  awakes,  his  sunken,  gleaming  eyes 

Fast  dark'ning  with  the  gathering  gloom  of  death; 

In  vain  the  trembling  priests  essay  to  calm 

His  troubled  soul — "  I  murdered  them!  "  he  shrieks; 

"  I  saw  them  butchered;   now  their  vengeful  souls 

Are  come  to  mock  me!     Hear  the  tower  bell! 

'  No  bell  '  ?  ye  mock  me!      Hear  it  peal! 

Aye,  hear  it !     Marking  slow 

The  shrieking  of  the  murdered  ones 

In  all  the  streets  below ! 

I  see  them — their  uplifted  hands, 


THE  DEATH  OF  CHARLES    THE   NINTH 

Their  pleading  eyes — oh,  there! 

See!  see  their  life-blood  flowing  down 

Around  me  everywhere !  ' ' 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  son !   this  crucifix 

Put  to  thy  lips  in  prayer!  " 

"  What!   pray  ?     I  pray  ?     I  press  my  lips 

Upon  that  holy  thing  ? 

I  pray  ?   'twere  blasphemy!   no  prayer 

Peace  to  this  heart  can  bring! 

The  bell!  the  bell  again!   shut  out, 

Shut  out  its  ringing  knell! 

'  A  fever  dream  '  ?     Great  God,  my  soul 

Doth  know  the  sound  full  well ! 

Have  I  not  heard  it  pealing  slow 

Above  me  night  and  day! 

Has  it  not  hung  about  my  neck 

Whene'er  I've  tried  to  pray! 

Have  I  not  heard  it  ?  hear  the  peal ! 

Louder  and  louder  yet ! 

I  shall  go  mad!      Shut  out  the  sound! 

O  God,  could  I  forget! 

And  hark!   it  brings  another  sound, — 

Hush !   sure,  you  heard  it  then. 

The  shrieking  of  the  helpless  throng, 

The  groans  of  dying  men — 

The  curses!  hear  them!" 

From  his  couch 
They  raised  the  dying  king, 
And  sought  with  soothing,  prayerful  words 
A  calmer  frame  to  bring. 
"  My  son  " — the  aged  father  spoke — 
"  But  idle  dreams  are  these: 
You  hear  no  bell^ — there  is  no  sound 
But  wind  among  the  trees. 
See,  here  I  hold  the  crucifix : 


XO  MAUDE  MOORE 

Now  lay  aside  thy  cure. 
And  gaze  thou  o\\  tiic  holy  cross, 
The  while  I  kiict'l  in  prayer." 

The  king  sank  buek  with  ashen  lips, 

The  holy  father  bent. 

And  to  tlie  heavenly  throne  above 

Ilis  supplication  sent: 

"  Have  mercy,  Lord  I  "  the  white-haired  priest 

In  reverent  accents  prayed ; 

"  Have  mercy  on  the  sons  of  men. 

For  thou  thyself  hast  said — " 

Quick  started  from  his  royal  couch 

The  dying  king.      "  Be  still!  " 

He  shouted  to  the  kneeling  priest, 

"  Stay,  hold  thy  peace!     Be  still! 

Did  He  not  say  *  Be  merciful '  .'' 

' '  Did  I  show  mercy  when 
By  mine  own  word  the  very  streets 
Flowed  down  with  lives  of  men  ? 
Did  I  show  mercy  when  that  wail 
Of  anguish  rent  the  air  .? 
Did  I  show  mercy  e'en  to  one 
In  all  that  black  despair  ^ 
1  saw  them  murdered — did  I  raise 
My  hand  to  stay  the  fire  ? 
Did  I  show  mercy  when  they  prayed, 
To  babe,  or  gray-haired  sire  .'' 

Mercy  .'  ye  mock  me!  " 

From  his  hand 
The  holy  symbol  fell, 
And  from  his  white  lips  fell  the  cry: 
'  The  bell,  the  tower  bell ! 
Shut  out  the  sound!  " 


THl:    TRADiriONS   OF  MASSACHUSETTS 

His  voice  grew  faint, 
His  eye  with  death  grew  dim ; 
Slowly  the  icy  shadows  crept 
O'er  hand,  and  brow,  and  limb; 
The  holy  fathers  gathered  round 
In  silence  where  he  lay; 
About  the  room  the  tapers  tall 
Grew  dim  with  dawning  day; 
And  ere  the  sun  had  lit  the  east, 
A  soul  had  passed  away. 


THE   TRADITIONS   OF   MASSACHUSETTS 

By  Henry  Cabot  Lodge,  Lawyer,  Editor,  Author;  Member  of  Con- 
grass  from  Massachusetts,  1886-93;  Senator,  1893 — .  Born  in 
Boston,  Mass.,  1S50. 

From  a   speech  before  the  Republican  State  Convention  of  Massachusetts,  ^[arch 
27,  1896.     See  daily  papers  of  Boston,  March  28,  iSg6. 

Look  at  these  two  questions  for  a  moment,  the  Venezuelan 
and  the  Cuban,  one  involving  aggressions  on  our  rights — on 
rights  which  we  believe  with  great  unanimity  concern  deeply 
the  peace  and  safety  of  the  United  States — while  the  other 
involves  a  case  of  humanity,  as  I  consider  it.  I  have  formed 
the  opinions  which  I  have  expressed  on  these  questions  by 
a  very  careful  study  of  all  the  facts  and  circumstances  for 
considerably  more  than  a  year. 

But  I  did  not  rest  there;  I  have  looked  also  to  see  what 
the  traditions  and  the  history  of  Massachusetts  had  to  say  to 
me  where  questions  involving  the  rights  of  my  country,  and 
others  as  I  believed  involving  the  interests  of  humanity  right 
here  at  our  threshold,  were  at  stake. 

The  first  public  man  I  ever  saw,  when  I  was  a  mere  child 
in  my  father's  house,  was  Charles  Sumner.  The  first  voice 
I  ever  heard  speak  on  public  affairs  was  his,  and  he  was 
pleading  the  rights  of  humanity.  Even  a  child  cou,ld  under- 
stand that.      He  bore  stripes  for  what  he  believed,  and  you 


13  HHKNY  c.-tnoT  lonci: 

coiilil  ui.t  turn  liitn  {\<m\  his  Ljrcat  struggle  for  the  bhick 
ii\an  by  trlHng  him  that  tlu-  negro  could  not  make  as  good 
a  government  as  the  Anglo-Saxon. 

(lO  back  a  little  farther.  There  is  Daniel  W'elister,  Secre- 
tary of  State,  declaring  to  the  Austiian  rcpresentalivr  tliat 
t'verv  ])cople  struggling  for  freedom  hail  the  sympathy  of  the 
people  of  the  L'nited  States!  They  sent  for  Kossuth  and 
brought  him  out  here  in  a  man-of-war.  We  are  tt^)lil  to-day 
that  we  are  too  rough  in  our  utterances  about  Sj)ain.  But 
it  was  Daniel  Webster  who  saul  in  liis  letter  to  Iliilsemann: 
"  The  great  Republic  controls  an  area  beside  which  the 
possessions  of  the  House  of  Ilapsburgare  but  a  patch  on  the 
earth's  surface."  It  was  the  same  Daniel  Webster  who 
stood  in  the  Congress  thirty  years  before  and  pleaded  the 
cause  of  the  Greeks  battling  for  their  liberties,  while  he 
denounced  Turkey  in  those  rolling  sentences  of  which  he 
alone  was  master. 

do  back  a  little  farther.  A  British  ship  had  taken  some 
of  our  seamen  out  of  an  American  ship,  and  the  President 
had  asked  for  measures  to  resist  the  outrage.  John  Quincy 
Adams  was  one  of  the  Senators  from  Massachusetts.  The 
President  was  not  of  his  party;  I  am  sure  that  the  President's 
policy  was  not  of  his  choosing.  He  did  not  like  it,  but  he 
stood  up  in  his  place  in  the  Senate  and  said  that,  in  the 
presence  of  a  controversy  with  a  foreign  government,  when 
"  The  President  has  recommended  this  measure  on  his  high 
responsibility,  I  would  not  deliberate — I  would  act!  " 

That  was  the  voice  of  Massachusetts  then.  Those  are  the 
lessons  I  read  in  the  lives  of  three  of  my  great  predecessors. 
Let  us  go  a  little  farther  and  see  what  more  w^e  can  learn 
in  Massachusetts  history  about  the  duties  of  her  sons  when 
the  rights  of  the  country  and  the  rights  of  humanity  are  at 
stake.  Go  out  with  me  into  the  streets  of  Boston;  go  down 
to  Faneuil  Hall — it  is  a  historic  spot.  Stop  there  in  front 
of  the  picture  which  hangs  on  those  walls  of  the  second 
Massachusetts  President.      To  those  silent  lips  put  the  ones- 


THE    TRADITIONS   OT  MASSACHUSETTS  13 

tion :  "Do  you  think  we  should  sustain  the  Monroe 
doctrine?"  Ask  it  of  John  Quincy  Adams.  What  do 
you  think  would  be  his  reply  ?     He  formulated  it. 

Go  out  again;  walk  up  into  Dock  Square.  What  is  the 
statue  you  see  there  .?  It  is  that  of  Sam  Adams.  Close  by 
is  the  place  where  the  first  blood  flowed  in  the  Revolution, 
liard  by  is  the  chamber  where,  in  the  gathering  twilight,  he 
faced  the  crown  officers  and  said  to  them:  "You  must 
remove  both  regiments.  If  you  can  remove  one  you  can 
remove  both — both  regiments  or  none."  He  looks  forth 
over  the  harbor  where  the  tea  fell.  Stop  in  front  of  that 
statue  and  put  to  it  the  question:  "  When  the  rights  of  your 
country  are  at  stake,  shall  you  resist  or  shall  you  yield  .?  " 
If  you  could  touch  those  bronze  lips  with  the  fire  of  speech 
what  do  you  think  they  would  say }  They  never  said 
"  Yield  "  in  their  life! 

We  are  all  agreed  about  Sam  Adams  to-day.  Do  you 
think  he  didn't  have  his  critics  .?  Eleven  hundred  of  them 
sailed  out  to  Halifax  with  Lord  Howe.  As  they  sailed  out 
of  the  harbor  George  Washington  rode  in  at  the  other  end 
of  the  town,  and  we  have  put  up  a  statue  to  him  also.  It 
is  down  there  in  the  Public  Garden — the  statue  of  the  man 
who  broke  the  empire  of  England  and  laid  the  foundations 
of  a  mightier  empire  here. 

Close  by  is  the  statue  of  Charles  Sumner,  and  the  battle 
of  his  life  was  for  human  rights.  A  little  farther  away  is  the 
statue  of  William  Lloyd  Garrison.  He  was  mobbed  in  the 
streets  of  Boston !  Mobbed,  and  for  what  .'  For  pleading 
the  rights  of  humanity,  even  if  the  skin  that  covered  the 
humanity  was  black.  There  sits  his  statue  in  Commonwealth 
Avenue.  I  do  not  see  the  effigies  of  the  men  who  mobbed 
him. 

Go  up  the  hill;  take  one  more  look.  There  is  an  un- 
finished monument  in  front  of  the  State  House,  opposite  the 
steps  where  John  A.  Andrew  sent  the  soldiers  off  to  the  war. 
There    is   an   unfinished    nionuinciitl     Turn    now    to    vour 


llar\'ard  biographies,  read  there  the  letters  ot  the  firsr 
Colonel  of  the  hrst  lMas^:achusctts  black  regiment,  ami  thev 
will  till  you  of  tlu-  prejudice,  of  the  oblocpiv,  of  all  he  IkuI 
to  encounter  while  he  was  raising  that  regiment.  It  was  not 
because  he  was  fighting  for  the  I'nion;  it  was  because,  in 
addition  to  lighting  for  the  Union,  he  was  trying  to  help  a 
race  to  freedom  by  proving  to  all  mankimi  that  they  deserved 
their  freedom  because  they  could  fight  for  it.  That  is  what 
he  was  meeting  obloquy,  reproach,  and  prejudice  for,  and 
he  went  off  w  ith  his  black  troops,  and  he  fell  there  at  Fort 
Wagner;  and  slavery,  in  its  ferociousness,  even  on  its  death- 
bed, cried  out:  "  Bury  him  with  his  niggers" — one  of  the 
noblest  epitaphs  ever  uttered  over  man.  And  now  Boston 
is  raising  a  statue  to  his  memory,  and  there,  carved  by  the 
chisel  of  the  greatest  of  living  sculptors,  Robert  Shaw  and 
his  black  soldiers  will  ride  together,  forever  ride! 

Those  are  the  memories,  those  are  the  traditions,  such  is 
the  inspiration,  and  such  the  lesson  that  I  find  in  Massa- 
chusetts histor)'. 

I  leave  the  history;  I  will  come  to  to-day.  I  will  come 
to  you,  voices  of  the  present.  I  will  come  to  you — to  you 
who  followed  the  gleaming  flag  of  the  Republic  through  four 
years  of  civil  war  and  brought  back  the  white  flag  of  Massa- 
chusetts, all  the  whiter  because  it  was  torn  with  shot  and 
black  with  smoke. 

I  turn  to  you,  the  brothers  and  the  sons  of  those  men ;  to 
you,  heirs  of  the  great  Republican  heritage  of  union  and 
freedom;  to  you,  within  the  borders  of  whose  Commonwealth 
lie  guarded  Concord,  Lexington,  and  Bunker  Hill;  to  you, 
children  of  the  Pilgrim  and  the  Puritan;  to  you,  citizens  of 
the  great  Republic!  To  you  I  come  and  ask  the  same 
counsel  that  I  asked  from  the  history  of  the  old  State,  and 
your  answer,  I  know,  will  be  the  same. 


GREAT  BRITAIN  AND  AMERICA 


GREAT    BRITAIN    AND   AMERICA 

By  Edwin  Oliver  Wolcott,  Lawyer;  Senator  from  Colorado,  1889 — . 
Born  in  Longmeadow,  Mass.,  1848. 

From  a  speech  delivered  in  the  Senate,  January  22,  181,6;  the  Senate  having  under 
consideration  a  resolution  relative  to  the  enforcement  of  the  Monroe  Doctrine.  See 
Congressionai  Record,  Jan.  22,  1896. 

]\Ir.  President,  if  the  Senate  is  not  responsible  for  the 
original  differences  which  have  arisen  between  Great  Britain 
and  this  country  relative  to  the  Venezuelan  boundary,  it 
must  be  admitted  that  we  have  done  much  toward  keeping 
the  question  active  and  the  differences  acute.  For  instance, 
the  other  day,  after  all  the  Venezuelan  dispatches  had  been 
published  to  the  world,  a  resolution  was  introduced  having 
reference  to  the  abortive  revolution  in  the  Transvaal. 

I  know  but  little  of  the  Transvaal  Republic,  but  I  am 
advised  that  a  large  percentage  of  its  white  citizens  are 
English-speaking  people,  and  are  denied  representation, 
while  paying  their  full  quota  of  taxation;  and  that  situation 
is  one  which  ordinarily  demands  and  receives  American 
sympathy  for  people  so  deprived  of  what  we  cherish  as  an 
unalienable  right.  But  whatever  the  cause  of  the  uprising, 
or  the  merits  of  the  dispute,  Mr.  President,  my  attention  at 
that  crisis  was  diverted  to  another  channel.  France  is  a 
sister  republic,  and  although  most  of  her  colonies,  com- 
mended in  the  resolution  of  the  Senator  from  Alabama,  have 
fewer  rights  than  Cuba,  she  is  yet  entitled  to  our  considera- 
tion and  sympathy  because  of  her  form  of  government. 
Germany  has  furnished  us  hundreds  of  thousands  of  worthy 
citizens,  who  are  a  credit  to  the  Republic.  Russia  was  our 
friendly  ally  in  the  late  war.  And  yet,  Mr.  President,  when 
I  read  that  all  these  powerful  governn.ents  —  France, 
Germany,  and  Russia  —  had  allied  themselves  together 
against  Great  Britain,  and  that  the  people  of  those  little 
islands,  "compassed  by  the  inviolate  sea,"  in  defense  of 
what  they  deemed  their  rights,  were  marshaling  their  armies 


1 6  IDUIN   ()/.// VTv'    UOl.COTT 

;uul  assembling  tlicir  navu>.  re.uly,  uiuluunttil,  to  f.uc  a 
worlil  in  .irnis,  unyielding  and  unafraiil,  I  ihankiil  Ck)d  I 
was  of  the  race!  There  is  no  drop  of  blood  in  nie,  Mr. 
President,  that  is  not  of  F.nglish  origin,  and  I  have  no 
ancestor  on  either  sitic  since  1650  who  was  not  born  on  the 
soil  of  New  England  ;  but  my  heart  beats  faster  w  hen  I  recall 
the  glorious  deetls  of  Clive,  and  Lawrence,  and  Napier,  and 
Wellington — of  Drake  and  Hawkins  wlio  fought  the  Spaniard 
and  swept  the  Spanish  Main,  and  of  the  incomjiarable 
Nelson;  and  my  pulse  quickens  when  I  realize  that  the 
splendor  of  their  achievements  is  part  of  our  glorious  lirri- 
tage,  and  that  the  language  of  Burke  and  of  Chatham  is  our 
mother  tongue ! 

Mr.  President,  we  will  protect  our  country  and  our 
country's  interests  with  our  lives,  but  we  wage  no  wars  of 
conquest  or  of  hate.  Tliis  Republic  stands  facing  the  dawn, 
secure  in  its  liberties,  conscious  of  its  high  destiny.  Wher- 
ever in  all  the  world  the  hand  of  the  oppressed  or  the  down- 
trodden is  reached  out  to  us,  we  meet  it  in  friendly  clasp. 
In  the  Old  World,  where  unspeakable  crimes  even  now 
darken  the  skies;  in  the  Orient,  where  old  dynasties  have 
been  crumbling  for  a  thousand  years  and  still  hang  together 
strong  in  accumulation  of  infamies;  in  South  America, 
where  as  yet  the  forms  of  free  institutions  hold  only  the 
spirit  of  cruelty  and  oppression;  everywhere  upon  the  earth 
it  is  our  mission  to  ameliorate,  to  civilize,  to  Christianize, 
to  loosen  the  bonds  of  captivity,  and  to  point  the  souls  of 
men  to  nobler  heights. 

Whatever  of  advancement  and  of  progress  the  centuries 
shall  bring  us,  must  largely  come  through  the  spread  of  the 
religion  of  Christ  and  the  dominance  of  the  English-speaking 
peoples;  and  wherever  you  find  both,  you  find  communities 
where  freedom  exists  and  law  is  obeyed.  Blood  is  thicker 
than  water,  and  until  some  just  quarrel  divides  us — which 
Heaven  forbid! — may  these  two  great  nations  of  the  same 
speech  and  lineage  and  traditions  stand  as  brothers  shoulder 


MR.    TRACERS' S   FIRST  HUNT  17 

to  shoulder,  in  the  interest  of  humanity,  by  their  union 
compelHng  peace  and  awaiting  the  coming  of  the  day  when 
"  Nation  shall  not  lift  up  sword  against  nation,  neither  shall 
they  learn  war  any  more." 


MR.    TRAVERS'S    FIRST    HUNT 

By  Richard  Harding  Davis,  Journalist,  Author.     Born  in  Philadel- 
phia, Penn.,  1864. 

Taken,  by  permission  of  tlie  publishers,  from  "  Van  Bibber  and  Others,"  by  Richa  d 
Harding  Davis.     Copyright,  1892,  by  Harper  &  Brothers,  New  York. 

Young  Travers,  who  had  been  engaged  to  a  girl  down  on 
Long  Island  for  the  last  six  months,  only  met  her  father  and 
brother  a  few  weeks  before  the  day  set  for  the  wedding.    .   ,   . 

Old  Mr,  Paddock,  the  father  of  the  girl  to  whom  Travers 
was  engaged,  had  often  said  that  when  a  young  man  asked 
him  for  his  daughter's  hand  he  should  ask  him  in  return, 
not  if  'he  had  lived  straight,  but  if  he  could  ride  straight. 
And  on  his  answering  this  question  in  the  aiifirmative 
depended  his  gaining  her  parent's  consent. 

Travers  had  met  Miss  Paddock  and  her  mother  in  Europe 
while  the  men  of  the  family  were  at  home.  He  was  invited 
to  their  place  in  the  fall  when  the  hunting  season  opened, 
and  spent  the  evening  very  pleasantly  and  satisfactorily  with 
his  Jiancee  in  a  corner  of  the  drawing-room. 

But  as  soon  as  the  women  had  gone,  young  Paddock 
joined  him  and  said:  "You  ride,  of  course .''"'  Travers 
had  never  ridden;  but  he  had  been  prompted  how  to  answer 
by  Miss  Paddock,  and  so  he  said  there  was  nothing  he  liked 
better.  As  he  expressed  it,  he  would  rather  ride  than  sleep. 
"  That's  good,"  said  Paddock.  "  I'll  give  you  a  mount 
on  Satan  to-morrow  morning  at  the  meet.  He's  a  bit  nasty 
at  the  start  of  the  season;  and  ever  since  he  killed  \\'allis, 
the  second  groom,  last  year,  none  of  us  care  much  to  ride 
him.  But  you  can  manage  him,  no  doubt.  He'll  ju^-t 
carry  your  weight," 


iS  RlCH.fKP   HAKDING    DAl'lS 

Mr.  Travcrs  ilrcamcd  that  night  of  taking  largo,  i1cs])it;Uc 
leaps  into  space  on  a  ^iKl  horse  that  snortcil  forth  flames, 
and  that  rose  at  solid  stone  walls  as  though  they  were  hay- 
ricks. 

He  was  temj^ted  to  say  he  was  ill  in  the  morning,  luil 
reflecting  tliat  he  should  have  to  do  it  sooner  or  later,  and 
that  if  lie  did  break  his  neck  it  would  be  in  a  good  cause,  he 
thought  he  had  better  do  Iiis  best. 

fic  came  down  looking  very  miserable  indeed.  .Satan 
had  been  taken  to  the  place  where  they  were  to  meet,  and 
Travers  on  his  arrival  there  had  a  sense  of  sickening  fear 
when  he  saw  him  dragging  three  grooms  off  their  feet. 

Travers  decided  that  lie  would  stay  with  his  feet  on  solid 
ground  just  as  long  as  he  could,  and  when  the  hounds  were 
thrown  off  and  the  rest  started  at  a  gallop  he  waited,  under 
the  pretense  of  adjusting  his  gaiters,  until  they  were  all  well 
away.  Then  he  clenched  his  teeth,  crammed  his  hat  down 
over  his  ears,  and  scrambled  up  on  to  the  saddle.  Ilis  feet 
fell  by  accident  into  the  stirrups,  and  the  licxt  instant  he 
was  off  after  the  others,  with  an  indistinct  feeling  that  he 
was  on  a  locomotive  that  was  jumping  the  ties.  Satan  was 
in  among  and  had  passed  tiie  other  horses  in  less  than  five 
minutes,  and  was  so  close  on  the  hounds  that  the  whippers-in 
gave  a  cry  of  warning.  But  Travers  could  as  soon  have 
pulled  a  boat  back  from  going  over  the  Niagara  Falls  as 
Satan,  and  it  was  only  because  the  hounds  were  well  ahead 
that  saved  them  from  having  Satan  ride  them  down. 

Travers  had  taken  hold  of  the  saddle  with  his  left  hand  to 
keep  himself  down,  and  .sawed  and  swayed  on  the  reins  with 
his  right.  He  shut  his  eyes  whenever  Satan  jumped,  and 
never  knew  how  he  liappened  to  stick  on ;  but  he  did  stick 
on,  and  was  so  far  ahead  that  no  one  could  see  in  the  misty 
morning  just  how  badly  he  rode.  As  it  was,  for  daring  and 
speed  he  led  the  field,  and  not  even  young  Paddock  was 
near  him  from  the  start. 

There  was  a  broad   stream  in  front   of  him  and  a  liill  just 


MR.    TRAyERS'S   FIRST  HUNT  19 

on  the  other  side.  No  one  had  ever  tried  to  take  this  at  a 
jump.  It  was  considered  more  of  a  swim  than  anything 
else,  and  the  hunters  always  crossed  it  by  a  bridge  towards 
the  left.  Travers  saw  the  bridge  and  tried  to  jerk  Satan's 
head  in  that  direction ;  but  Satan  kept  right  on  as  straight 
as  an  express  train  over  the  prairie.  Fences  and  trees  and 
furrows  passed  by  and  under  Travers  like  a  panorama  run 
by  electricity,  and  he  only  breathed  by  accident.  They 
went  on  at  the  stream  and  the  hill  beyond  as  though  they 
were  riding  at  a  stretch  of  turf,  and,  though  the  whole  field 
sent  up  a  shout  of  warning  and  dismay,  Travers  could  only 
gasp  and  shut  his  eyes.  He  remembered  the  fate  of  the 
second  groom  and  shivered.  Then  the  horse  rose  like  a 
rocket,  lifting  Travers  so  high  in  the  air  that  he  thought 
Satan  would  never  come  down  again;  but  he  did  come  down, 
with  his  feet  bunched,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  stream. 
The  next  instant  he  was  up  and  over  the  hill,  and  had 
stopped  panting  in  the  very  centre  of  the  pack  that  were 
snarling  and  snapping  around  the  fox. 

And  then  Travers  showed  that  he  was  a  thoroughbred, 
even  though  he  could  not  ride,  for  he  hastily  fumbled  for  his 
cigar-case,  and  when  the  rest  of  the  field  came  pounding  up 
over  the  bridge  and  around  the  hill,  they  saw  him  seated 
nonchalantly  on  his  saddle,  pufiTing  critically  at  a  cigar  and 
giving  Satan  patronizing  pats  on  the  head. 

"My  dear  girl,"  said  old  IMr.  Paddock  to  his  daughter 
as  they  rode  back,  "  if  you  love  that  young  man  of  yours 
and  want  to  keep  him,  make  him  promise  to  give  up  riding. 
A  more  reckless  and  brilliant  horseman  I  have  never  seen. 
He  took  that  double  leap  at  the  gate  and  that  stream  like  a 
centaur.  But  he  will  break  his  neck  sooner  or  later,  and  he 
ought  to  be  stopped." 

Young  Paddock  was  so  delighted  with  his  piusptctive 
brother-in-law's  great  riding  that  that  night  in  the  .^nioking- 
room  he  made  him  a  present  of  Satan  befcMC  all  the  men. 

"  No,"  said  Travers  gloomily,  "  I  can't  take  him.      Your 


ao  Hui.i.iM  .\tj<iNu:y 

sister  has  asked  lue  to  give  up  what  is  dearer  to  me  tliaii 
anything  next  to  herself,  and  that  is  my  riding.  Vou  sec, 
she's  absurdly  anxit)us  for  my  safety,  and  I  have  given  mv 
word. " 

A  ehorus  ot  symjtathetie  remonstranees  rose  from  the 
men. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Travers,  "it  is  rough,  but  it 
just  shows  what  saerifiees  a  man  will  make  for  the  woman 
he  loves. 

OUR    DUTY    TO   THE    PHILIPPINES 

By  William  McKinlev.  Lawyer,  Statesman;  Member  ofConj^ress  from 
Ohio,  1876-90;  Governor  of  Ohio,  1891-95;  President  of  the  United 
States,  1897 — .     Born  in  Niles,  Ohio,  1843. 

From  an  address  delivered  at  a  dinner  of  the  Home  Market  Club  in  Boston.  Mass., 
February  16,  181^9.  See  Boston  daily  papers,  Feb.  17,  1899;  also  Congressional 
Record,  Feb.  24,  1899. 

1  (.lo  not  know  why  in  the  year  1899  this  Republic  has 
unexpectedly  had  placed  before  it  mighty  j)roblems  which  it 
must  face  and  meet.  They  have  come  and  are  here,  and 
they  could  not  be  kept  away.  .  ,  ,  [We  have  fought  a  war 
with  Spain.] 

The  Philippines,  like  Cuba  and  Porto  Rico,  were  intrusted 
to  our  hands  by  the  war,  and  to  that  great  trust,  under  the 
providence  of  God  and  in  the  name  of  human  progress  and 
civilization,  we  are  committed.  It  is  a  trust  we  have  not 
sought;  it  is  a  trust  from  which  we  will  not  flinch.  l"he 
American  people  will  hold  up  the  hands  of  their  servants  at 
home  to  whom  they  commit  its  execution,  while  Dewey  and 
Otis  and  the  brave  men  whom  they  command  will  have  the 
support  of  the  country  in  upholding  our  flag  where  it  now 
floats,  the  symbol  and  assurance  of  liberty  and  justice.  .  .  . 

There  is  universal  agreement  that  the  Philippines  shall  not 
be  turned  back  to  Spain.  No  true  American  consents  to 
that.  Even  if  unwilling  to  accept  them  ourselves,  it  would 
have  been  a  weak  evasion  of  manly  duty  to  require  Spain  to 


OUR   DUTY    TO    THE  PHILIPPINES  21 

transfer  them  to  some  other  power  or  powers,  and  thus  shirk 
our  own  responsibility.  Even  if  we  had  had,  as  we  did  not 
have,  the  power  to  compel  such  a  transfer,  it  could  not  have 
been  made  without  the  most  serious  international  complica- 
tions. Such  a  course  could  not  be  thought  of.  And  yet 
had  we  refused  to  accept  the  cession  of  them,  we  should  have 
had  no  power  over  them  even  for  their  own  good. 

We  could  not  discharge  the  responsibilities  upon  us  until 
these  islands  became  ours,  either  by  conquest  or  treaty. 
There  "was  but  one  alternative,  and  that  was  either  Spain  or 
the  United  States  in  the  Philippines.  The  other  suggestions 
— first,  that  they  should  be  tossed  into  the  arena  of  conten- 
tion for  the  strife  of  nations;  or,  second,  be  left  to  the 
anarchy  and  chaos  of  no  protectorate  at  all — were  too 
shameful  to  be  considered. 

The  treaty  gave  them  to  the  United  States.  Could  we 
have  required  less  and  done  our  duty  .''  Could  we,  after 
freeing  the  Filipinos  from  the  domination  of  Spain,  have  left 
them  without  government  and  without  power  to  protect 
life  or  property  or  to  perform  the  international  obligations 
essential  to  an  independent  state  }  Could  we  have  left  them 
in  a  state  of  anarchy  and  justified  ourselves  in  our  own  con- 
sciences or  before  the  tribunal  of  mankind  }  Could  we  have 
done  that  in  the  sight  of  God  or  man  .? 

The  future  of  the  Philippine  Islands  is  now  in  the  hands 
of  the  American  people.  Until  the  treaty  was  ratified  or 
rejected  the  executive  department  of  this  government  could 
only  preserve  the  peace  and  protect  life  and  property.  That 
treaty  now  commits  the  free  and  enfranchised  Filipinos  to 
the  guiding  hand  and  the  liberalizing  influences,  the  generous 
sympathies,  the  uplifting  education,  not  of  their  American 
masters,  but  of  their  American  emancipators.  .  .  . 

Until  Congress  shall  direct  otherwise,  it  will  be  the  duty 
of  the  executive  to  possess  and  hold  the  Philippines,  giving 
to  the  people  thereof  peace  and  order  and  beneficent  govern- 
ment, affording  them   every  opportunity  to  prosecute  their 


aa  Ulll.l.lM   M.KISIIY 

lawful  pursuits,  cncouraginj;  tlicm  in  thrilt  luul  industry, 
making  tlifni  feci  ami  know  that  we  are  their  friends,  not 
their  enemies,  that  their  good  is  our  aim,  that  their  welfare 
is  our  welfare,  but  that  neither  their  aspirations  nor  ours  can 
be  realized  until  our  authority  is  acknowleilged  and  untjues- 
tiouLil. 

That  the  inhabitants  of  the  Philippines  will  be  benefited 
by  this  Republic  is  my  unshaken  belief.  That  they  will 
have  a  kindlier  government  under  our  guidance,  and  that 
they  will  be  aided  in  every  possible  way  to  be  a  self-respect- 
ing and  self-governing  people  is  as  true  as  that  the  American 
people  love  liberty  and  have  an  abiding  faith  in  their  own 
government  and  in  their  own  institutions. 

No  imperial  designs  lurk  in  the  American  mind.  They 
are  alien  to  American  sentiment,  thought,  anti  purpose. 
Our  priceless  principles  undergo  no  change  under  a  tropical 
sun.  They  go  with  the  flag.  They  are  wrought  in  every 
one  of  its  sacred  folds,  and  are  indistinguishable  as  its 
shining  stars. 

'•Why  read  ye  not  tlie  cliangeless  truth, 
The  free  can  conquer  but  to  save  ?  " 

If  we  can  benefit  these  remote  peoples,  who  will  object  .' 
If  in  the  years  of  the  future  they  are  established  in  govern- 
ment under  law  and  liberty,  who  will  regret  our  perils  and 
sacrifices .'  ^^'ho  will  not  rejoice  in  our  heroism  and 
humanity.'  Always  perils,  and  always  after  them  safety; 
always  darkness  and  clouds,  but  always  shining  through  them 
the  light  and  the  sunshine;  always  cost  and  sacrifice,  but 
always  after  them  the  fruition  of  liberty,  education,  and 
civilization. 

I  have  no  light  or  knowledge  not  common  to  my  country- 
men. I  do  not  prophesy.  The  present  is  all-absorbing  to 
me,  but  I  cannot  bound  my  vision  by  the  blood-stained 
trenches  around  Manila,  where  every  red  drop,  whether  from 
the  veins  of  an  American  soldier  or  a  misguided  Filipino,  is 


THE  STORMING    OF  MISSION  RIDGE  23 

anguish  to  my  heart;  but  by  the  broad  range  of  future  years, 
when  that  group  of  islands,  under  the  impulse  of  the  year 
just  past,  shall  have  become  the  gems  and  glories  of  those 
tropical  seas;  a  land  of  plenty  and  of  increasing  possibilities; 
a  people  redeemed  from  savage  indolence  and  habits,  devoted 
to  the  arts  of  peace,  in  touch  with  the  commerce  and  trade 
of  all  nations,  enjoying  the  blessings  of  freedom,  of  civil  and 
religious  liberty,  of  education  and  of  homes,  and  -whose 
children  and  children's  children  shall  for  ages  hence  bless 
the  American  Republic  because  it  emancipated  and  redeemed 
their  fatherland  and  set  them  in  the  pathway  of  the  world's 
best  civilization. 


THE   STORMING   OF   MISSION    RIDGE 

By  Benjamin  Franklin  Taylor,  Journalist,  Author,  Poet.     Born  at 
Lowville,  N.  Y.,  1819;  died  at  Cleveland,  Ohio,  1887. 

Reprinted,   by  permission  of  the  publishers,  from   "  Mission  Ridge   and    Lookout 
Mountain,"  copyright,  1871,  by  D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  New  York. 

Imagine  a  chain  of  Federal  forts,  built  in  between  with 
walls  of  living  men,  the  line  flung  northward  out  of  sight 
and  southward  beyond  Lookout,  Imagine  a  chain  of 
mountains  crowned  with  batteries  and  manned  with  hostile 
troops  through  a  six-mile  sweep,  set  over  against  us  in  plain 
sight,  and  you  have  the  two  fronts, — the  blue,  the  gray. 
Imagine  the  center  of  our  line  pushed  out  a  mile  and  a  half 
towards  Mission  Ridge,  and  you  have  the  situation  as  it  was 
on  the  morning  before  Thanksgiving.  And  what  a  work 
was  to  be  done!  One  and  a  half  miles  to  trave'"se,  with 
narrow  fringes  of  woods,  rough  valleys,  sweeps  of  open 
fields,  rocky  acclivities,  to  the  base  of  the  Ridge,  and  no 
foot  in  all  the  breadth  withdrawn  from  rebel  sight.  The 
base  attained,  what  then  ^  A  hill  struggling  up  out  of  the 
valley  four  hundred  feet,  rained  on  by  bullets,  swept  by  shot 
and  shell ;  another  line  of  works,  and  then,  up  like  a  Gothic 
roof,    rough   with   rocks,    a-wreck   with   fallen   trees,   four 


«4  liENJMMlS   IRASKllN    T.-DLOK 

)unulr(>d  more;  anotluT  ring  of  fin-  iiml  iron,  ami  llun  the 
crest,  and  then  the  enemy. 

To  dream  of  such  a  journey  would  be  madness;  to  litvise 
it.  a  thing  incredible;  to  ilo  it,  a  deed  impossible.  But 
Cirant  was  guilty  of  them  all,  and  was  ecpial  to  thr  work. 

The  bugle  swung  idly  at  the  bugler's  side.  The  warbling 
life  anil  rumbling  drum  were  unheard.  There  was  to  le 
louder  talk.  Six  guns  at  intervals  of  two  seconds,  the  signal 
to  advance.  Strong  ami  steady  a  voice  rang  out:  "  Numbir 
one,  fire!  Number  two,  fire!  Number  three,  fire  I  "  It 
seemed  to  me  the  tolling  of  the  clock  of  destiny.  And  when 
at  "  Number  six,  fire!  "  the  roar  throbbed  out  with  a  flasli, 
you  should  have  seen  the  dead-line  that  had  been  lying 
behind  the  works  all  day,  all  night,  all  day  again,  come  to 
resurrection  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  leap  like  a  blade 
from  its  scabbard,  and  sweep  with  a  two-mile  stroke  toward 
the  Ridge.  From  divisions  to  brigades,  from  brigades  to 
regiments,  the  order  ran.  A  minute,  and  the  skirmishers 
deploy.  A  minute,  and  the  first  great  drops  begin  to  patter 
along  the  line.  A  minute,  and  the  musketry  is  in  full  play, 
like  the  crackling  whips  of  a  hemlock  fire.  Men  go  down 
here  and  there  before  your  eyes. 

But  I  may  tell  you  they  did  not  storm  that  mountain  as 
you  would  think.  They  dash  out  a  little  way,  and  then 
slacken;  they  creep  up,  hand  over  hand,  loading  and  firing, 
and  wavering  and  halting,  from  the  first  line  of  works  toward 
the  second ;  they  burst  into  a  charge  with  a  cheer  and  go 
over  it.  Sheets  of  flame  baptize  them;  plunging  shot  tear 
away  comrades  on  left  and  right.  It  is  no  longer  shoulder 
to  shoulder;  it  is  God  for  us  all.  Ten — fifteen — twenty 
minutes  go  by  like  a  reluctant  century.  The  batteries  roll 
like  a  drum.  The  hill  sways  up  like  a  wall  before  them  at 
an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees;  but  our  brave  mountaineers 
are  clambering  steadily  on — up — upward  still!  And  what 
do  tkese  men  follow  ?  Your  heart  gives  a  great  bound  when 
you  think  what  it  is, — the  regimental  flag, — and,  glancing 


THE  STORMING    OF  MISSION  RIDGE  25 

along  the  front,  count  fifteen  of  those  colors  that  were  borne 
at  Pea  Ridge,  waved  at  Shiloh,  glorified  at  Stone  River, 
riddled  at  Chickamauga.  Three  times  the  flag  of  the  27th 
Illinois  goes  down.  And  you  know  why..  Three  dead 
color  sergeants  lie  just  there;  but  the  flag  is  immortal — 
thank  God ! — and  up  it  comes  again,  and  the  men  in  a  row 
of  inverted  V's  move  on. 

I  give  a  look  at  the  sun  behind  me;  it  is  not  more  than  a 
hand-breadth  from  the  edge  of  the  mountain.  Oh,  for  the 
voice  that  could  bid  that  sun  stand  still!  I  turn  to  the 
battle  again.  Those  three  flags  have  taken  flight.  They 
are  upward  bound!  The  race  of  thfe  flags  is  growing  every 
moment  more  terrible.  The  iron  sledge  beats  on.  Hearts, 
loyal  and  brave,  are  on  the  anvil  all  the  way  from  base  to 
summit  of  Mission  Ridge,  but  those  dreadful  hammers  never 
intermit.  Things  are  growing  desperate  up  aloft;  the  enemy 
tumble  rocks  upon  the  rising  line;  they  light  the  fuses  and 
roll  shells  down  the  steep;  they  load  the  guns  with  handfuls 
of  cartridges  in  their  haste;  and,  as  if  there  were  powder  in 
the  word,  they  shout  "  Chickamauga!  "  down  upon  the 
mountaineers. 

But  all  would  not  do,  and  just  as  the  sun,  weary  of  the 
scene,  was  sinking  out  of  sight,  with  magnificent  bursts  all 
along  the  line,  exactly  as  you  have  seen  the  crested  seas  leap 
up  at  the  breakwater,  the  advance  surged  over  the  crest,  and 
in  a  minute  those  flags  fluttered  along  the  fringe  where  fifty 
guns  were  kenneled.  The  scene  on  that  narrow  plateau  can 
never  be  painted.  As  the  b'luecoats  surged  over  its  edge, 
c!ieer  on  cheer  rang  like  bells  through  the  valley  of  the 
Chickamauga.  Men  flung  themselves  exhausted  upon  the 
ground.  They  laughed  and  wept,  shook  hands,  embraced, 
turned  round,  and  did  all  four  over  again.  It  was  wild 
as  a  carnival.  The  general  was  received  with  a  shout. 
"Soldiers,"  he  said,  "you  ought  to  be  court-martialed, 
every  man  of  you.  I  ordered  you  to  take  the  rifle-pits,  and 
you  scaled  the  mountain!  " 


NEHll.L  bli  ii.jnr  tm.i.is 


THE    BIBLE 


By  Newell  Dwiout  IIili.is,  rriachcr,  Autlior;  Pastor  of  Central 
Cliiirch.  Cliic:i^;i>,  1804-99;  of  I'lymouth  Church,  Urooklyii,  1899—  . 
lk>rii  ill  Ma(;nolia,  la.,  1858. 

From  a  sermon   delivered  in  Chicago,   April   11,   iHy;.     See  CliicaKo   Inter-Oie,tn, 
April  I  J,  1897.     By  permission  of  the  author. 

Tlic  Bible  is  a  handbook  for  right  living.  In  all  literature 
it  is  the  one  book  that  unveils  the  great  scheme  and  schedule 
along  which  each  man  may  lay  out  the  lines  of  his  life.  It 
is  a  book  that  blazes  forth  against  brutalism,  but  flames  with 
light  for  him  who  seeks  knowledge  and  integrity.  Not  once 
has  it  flattered  the  oppressor's  hand,  nor  gilded  witli  hope 
the  future  of  him  who  loved  selfishness  and  sin.  No  youth 
who  riots  through  life,  draining  away  the  nerve  forces  that 
make  for  happiness,  can,  when  the  hour  of  weakness  and 
disaster  takes  him,  complain  that  he  was  not  warned.  And 
there  is  no  hero  who  has  stood  for  patriotism  and  liberty, 
and  won  immortal  renown,  who  can  fail  to  recognize  his 
indebtedness  to  this  book  that  taught  him  self-sacrifice  and 
sweetness  and  law. 

This  is  the  one  book  also  that  has  stood  for  the  home  and 
commanded  parents  to  rise  up  early  and  sit  up  late  to  teach 
their  children  the  laws  of  industry  and  thrift  and  obedience. 
And  having  been  the  book  for  workingmen,  the  book  for 
slaves,  the  book  for  the  oppressed  and  the  defeated,  the  book 
of  hope,  the  book  that  in  a  midnight  hour  has  lifted  a  star 
into  the  sky,  this  book  finally  became  for  man  the  book  of 
mercy  and  redeeming  love.  Having  rolled  the  thunder  of 
its  penalties  along  the  horizon  of  time,  at  last  it  sent  forth  a 
voice  to  every  wrongdoer  urging  him  to  forsake  his  iniquity 
and  to  love  integrity.  It  unveiled  the  divine  form  of  Jesus 
Christ,  who  exhibited  God  as  a  God  of  love.  .  .  . 

Never  before  has  the  Bible  been  so  vigorously  assailed. 
Every  instrument  that  wit  and  learning  can  devise  or  invent 
has  been  turned  against  this  book.      For  full  thirty  years  the 


THE  BIBLE  27 

Bible  has  been  in  such  a  fire  of  criticism  as  no  other  book 
has  even  known.  The  result  is  that  in  Germany,  England, 
Scotland,  and  among  the  educated  classes  in  America  the 
Bible  has  a  standing  and  influence  that  it  never  before 
possessed.  No  other  book  has  been  so  refurbished  as  this 
book.  As  the  old  canvas  in  Milan,  when  cleansed  of  grime 
and  the  smoke  of  centuries,  revealed  the  faces  of  angels  and 
seraphs,  so  criticism  is  cleansing  from  the  Bible  the  grime 
of  the  Middle  Ages.  .  .  .  For  the  higher  criticism  has  helped 
the  Bible,  not  hurt  it.  A  few  timid  teachers  have  tried  to 
protect  Christianity,  thinking  it  was  a  young  and  tender 
thing  that  would  perish  unless  each  year  the  counsel  or 
assembly  wrapped  a  red  flannel  around  the  truth  to  keep  the 
truth  from  taking  cold.  But  men  cannot  defend  the  truth, 
though  the  truth  can  defend  men.  History  tells  us  of  a  fire 
that  ran  over  the  hills  of  Greece.  While  the  flames  burned 
through  the  vineyards  each  peasant  wrung  his  hands  and 
wep  bitterly.  Afterward  when  the  people  went  into  their 
blacKcned  fields  they  found  that  the  flames  that  had  destroyed 
their  vines  had  melted  the  silver,  hitherto  unsuspected,  and 
made  it  flow  from  the  fissures  in  the  rocks.  Thus  the  fires 
of  criticism  kindled  upon  the  Bible  have  left  us  richer  than 
they  found  us.  If  they  have  burned  up  the  old  traditions, 
they  have  given  us  new  truths. 

Never  before  has  the  Bible  been  so  truly  a  God-inspired 
book.  Never  before  have  scientists  and  scholars  felt  the  full 
fascination  of  its  glorious  pages.  Young  men  need  this 
book  once  bedewed  by  the  sweet  mother's  tears.  Young 
women  and  maidens  need  this  book  that  lent  the  revered 
father  his  manhood  and  strength.  Poverty  needs  this  book, 
childhood  needs  this  book,  liberty  and  learning  need  this 
sacred  volume.  When  its  truths  fail  eloquence  will  lose  its 
dignity,  the  library  will  lose  its  glory,  civilization  will  lose 
its  power.  Not  until  the  last  wrong  has  been  righted,  the 
last  wound  healed,  the  last  tear  wiped  away,  will  this  book 
have  accomplished  its  mission.      For  it  is  the  book  of  hope, 


2S  JOHX  Mi:i.U:.\'    TNL'KSTON 

the  book  «•(  loiiifoit,  tin-  lnHik  i>(  cdiuliu  t  ;iiul  cliaiiKtrr,  the 
book  of  time,  the  hook  of  rttriiitv,  ami,  tlu  icfoif,  it  is  the 
book  of  CjoiI. 


A    PLEA    FOR    CUBA 

h\  John  Mei.I.kn  TlllRsruN.  Lawyer;  Senator  from  NVhraska,  i8i»5 — . 
liorn  at  Montpelier,  \'t..  1847. 

From  a  speech   made   in  the  Senate,  March  24.   iS.y"?.     See  CongrfssicHfil  KetrorJ, 
March  .-4.  iS^S. 

.Mr.  President,  I  am  here  by  cumniand  of  silent  Li[)s  to 
speak  once  and  for  all  upon  the  Cuban  situation.  1  trust 
that  no  one  has  expected  anything  sensational  from  me. 
God  forbid  that  the  bitterness  of  a  personal  loss  should 
induce  me  to  color  in  the  slightest  degree  the  statement  that 
I  feel  it  my  duty  to  make.  I  shall  endeavor  to  be  honest, 
conservative,  and  just.  1  have  no  purpose  to  stir  the  public 
passion  to  any  action  not  necessary  and  imperative  to  meet 
the  duties  and  necessities  of  American  responsibility, 
Christian  humanity,  and  national  honor.  I  would  shirk  this 
task  if  I  could,  but  I  dare  not.  I  cannot  satisfy  my  con- 
science except  by  speaking,  and  speaking  now.    .   .    . 

Under  the  inhuman  policy  of  W'eyler  not  less  than  400,000 
self  -  supporting,  simple,  peaceable,  defenseless  country 
people  were  driven  from  their  homes  in  the  agricultural  por- 
tions of  the  Spani.sh  provinces  to  the  cities,  and  imprisoned 
upon  the  barren  waste  outside  the  residence  portions  of  these 
cities  and  within  the  lines  of  intrenchment  established  a  little 
wav  beyond.  Their  humble  homes  were  burned,  their  fields 
laid  waste,  their  implements  of  husbandry  destroyed,  their 
live  stock  and  food  supplies  for  the  most  part  confiscated. 
Most  of  these  people  were  old  men,  women,  and  children. 
They  were  thus  placed  in  hopeless  imprisonment,  witliout 
shelter  or  food.  There  was  no  work  for  them  in  tlie  cities 
to  which  they  were  driven.  'l"he\-  were  left  there  with  noth- 
ing to  depend  upon  except  the  scanty  charity  of  the  inhabit- 


A  PLEA   l-OR   CUBA  29 

ants  of  tlie  cities  and  witli  slow  starvation  their  inevitable 
fate.    .   .   . 

The  pictures  in  the  American  newspapers  of  the  starving 
reconcentrados  are  true.  They  can  all  be  duplicated  by  the 
thousands.  I  never  before  saw,  and  please  God  I  may  never 
again  see,  so  deplorable  a  sight  as  the  reconcentrados  in  the 
suburbs  of  INIatanzas.  I  can  never  forget  to  my  dying  day 
the  hopeless  anguisli  in  their  despairing  eyes.  Huddled 
about  their  little  bark  huts,  they  raised  no  voice  of  appeal 
to  us  for  alms  as  we  went  among  them.    .    .    . 

Men,  women,  and  children  stand  silent,  famishing  with 
hunger.  Their  only  appeal  comes  from  their  sad  eyes, 
through  which  one  looks  as  through  an  open  window  into 
their  agonizing  souls. 

The  Government  of  Spain  has  not  appropriated  and  will 
not  appropriate  one  dollar  to  save  these  people.  They  arc 
now  being  attended  and  nursed  and  administered  to  by  the 
charity  of  the  United  States.  Think  of  the  spectacle!  We 
are  feeding  these  citizens  of  Spain  ;  we  arc  nursing  their  sick ; 
we  are  saving  such  as  can  be  saved,  and  yet  there  are  those 
who  still  say  it  is  right  for  us  to  send  food,  but  we  must 
keep  hands  off.  I  say  that  the  time  has  come  when  muskets 
ought  to  go  with  the  food.    .    .    . 

I  shall  refer  to  these  horrible  things  no  further.  They  are 
there.  God  pity  me;  I  have  seen  them;  they  will  remain 
in  my  mind  forever — and  this  is  almost  the  twentieth  century. 
Christ  died  nineteen  hundred  years  ago,  and  Spain  is  a 
Christian  nation.  She  has  set  up  more  crosses  in  more 
lands,  beneath  more  skies,  and  under  them  has  butchered 
more  people  than  all  the  other  nations  of  the  earth  combined. 

Europe  may  tolerate  her  existence  as  long  as  the  people 
of  the  Old  World  wish.  God  grant  that  before  another 
Christmas  morning  the  last  vestige  of  Spanish  tyranny  and 
oppression  will  have  vanished  from  the  Western  Hemi- 
sphere.   ,   .    . 

The  time  for  action  has,  then,  come.      No  greater  reason 


3©  JOHN   Mllir.N    THURSTON 

for  it  can  exist  to-morrow  tiian  exists  to-ilay.  I'.vcry  hour's 
delay  onlv  adils  anotlier  eliapter  to  the  awful  story  of  misery 
and  death.  Only  one  power  ean  intervene — the  United 
States  of  America.  Ours  is  the  one  great  nation  of  the  New 
World,  the  mother  of  American  republics,  ."^lie  holds  a 
position  of  trust  and  responsibility  toward  the  peoples  and 
the  affairs  of  the  whole  Western  Hemisphere. 

It  was  her  glorious  example  which  inspired  the  patriots  of 
Cuba  to  raise  the  flag  of  liberty  in  her  eternal  hills.  We 
cannot  refuse  to  accept  this  responsibility  which  the  (iod  of 
the  univer.^c  lius  placcal  upon  us  as  the  one  great  power  in 
the  New  World.  We  must  act!  What  sliall  our  action 
be.'  .   .   . 

Mr.  President,  there  is  only  one  action  possible,  if  any  is 
taken;  that  is,  intervention  for  the  independence  of  the 
island.  But  we  cannot  intervene  and  save  Cuba  without  the 
exercise  of  force,  and  force  means  war;  war  means  blood. 
The  lowly  Nazarene  on  the  shores  of  Galilee  preached  the 
divine  doctrine  of  love,  "  Peace  on  earth,  good  will  toward 
men."  Not  peace  on  earth  at  the  expense  of  liberty  and 
humanitv.  Not  good  will  toward  men  who  despoil,  enslave, 
degrade,  and  starve  to  death  their  fellow  men.  I  believe  in 
the  doctrine  of  Christ.  I  believe  in  the  doctrine  of  peace; 
but,  Mr.  President,  men  must  have  liberty  before  there  can 
come  abiding  peace. 

Intervention  means  force.  Force  means  war.  War  means 
blood.  But  it  will  be  God's  force.  When  has  a  battle  for 
humanity  and  liberty  ever  been  won  except  by  force  }  What 
barricade  of  wrong,  injustice,  and  oppression  has  ever  been 
carried  except  by  force  ? 

Force  compelled  the  signature  ot  unwilling  royalty  to  the 
great  ^Nlagna  Charta;  force  put  life  into  the  Declaration  of 
Independence  and  made  effective  the  Fmancipation  Procla- 
mation ;  force  beat  wuth  naked  hands  upon  the  iron  gateway 
of  the  Bastile  and  made  reprisal  in  one  awful  hour  for  cen- 
turies of  kingly  crime;  force  waved  tlic  flag  of  revolution 


THE  HEART  OF  OLD  HICKORY  3I 

over  Bunker  Hill  and  marked  the  snows  of  Valley  Forge 
with  blood-stained  feet;  force  held  the  broken  line  at  Shiloh, 
climbed  the  flame-swept  hill  at  Chattanooga,  and  stormed 
the  clouds  on  Lookout  heights;  force  marched  with  Sherman 
to  the  sea,  rode  with  Sheridan  in  the  valley  of  the  Shenan- 
doah, and  gave  Grant  victory  at  Appomattox;  force  saved 
the  Union,  kept  the  stars  in  the  flag,  made  "niggers  "  men. 
The  time  for  God's  force  has  come  again.  Let  the  impas- 
sioned lips  of  American  patriots  once  more  take  up  the  song: 

In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across  the  sea, 
With  a  glory  in  His  bosom  that  transfigured  you  and  me, 
As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  free, 
For  God  is  marching  on. 

Others  may  hesitate,  others  may  procrastinate,  others  may 
plead  for  further  diplomatic  negotiation,  which  means 
delay;  but  for  me,  I  am  ready  to  act  now,  and  for  my  action 
I  am  ready  to  answer  to  my  conscience,  my  country,  and 
my  God. 

THE    HEART   OF   OLD    HICKORY 

(Adapted) 

By  Will  Allen    Dromgoole,   Teacher.  Author.     Born  in   Murfrees- 
boro,  Tenn.,  i860. 

Taken,   by  permission  of  the  publishers,  from  "  Heart  of  Old  Hickory  and  Other 
Stories,"  copyright,  1895,  by  Dana  Estes  &  Company,  Boston. 

There  was  an  air  of  desolation  about  the  grim  old  State 
House,  as,  one  by  one,  the  last  loitering  feet  came  down  the 
damp  corridors.  The  Governor  heard  the  steps  and  the 
rustle  of  a  woman's  skirt.  He  never  felt  quite  alone  in  the 
empty  State  House  until  those  steps  had  passed  by.  This 
evening,  however,  they  stopped,  and  the  librarian  entered 
the  executive  office. 

"  I  only  stopped  to  say  a  word  for  the  little  hunchback's 
mother,"  she  said.  "She  is  not  a  bad  woman,  and  her 
provocation  was  great." 


3-'  /////  .-iiirK  ni<o.\i(](H)/r 

lie  mm  ml>i  Till  the  wniil.s  ImiL,'  altir  llir  lil>iaii:in  liail 
gone;  ami  sijjhini;.  lie  aj^ain  took  up  the  Irnii;  rull  of  ])a])(.'r 
lyinj;  upon  his  desk. 

"  luasuiucli  as  she  was  sorely  w  ron.t,'eil,  bcalLii,  tor- 
turcil-— ■'  ( >h,  that  was  an  oUl  story;  yet  it  read  well,  too, 
that  oKl.  oKI  petition  with  that  old,  old  plea — charily.  It 
was  a  hard  thing, — to  hold  WW  in  his  hand  and  refuse  it. 
Those  old  threailbarc  stories  liatl  well-nigh  wrought  his 
political  ruin.  The  paj)crs  liail  sneeringly  nicknamed  him 
"  Tenderheart.  "  ami  compared  him,  with  a  sneer,  to  that  old 
sterling  hero,  Amlrew  Jackson,  whose  statue  loomed  like  a 
bronze  giant  in  the  gathering  twilight. 

"Papers!     Papers!     Wanter  paper,  mister.'"" 

A  thin  little  face  peered  in  at  the  door,  a  face  so  old,  so 
strangely  unchildlikc,  he  wondered  if  it  were  not  the  face  of 
a  man  fastened  upon  the  misshapen  body  of  a  child. 

"  Yes,  I  want  a  Banner." 

The  bo}-  hail  bounded  forward  at  the  wx-lcome  "  Yes, " 
but  stopped  at  the  remainder  of  the  sentence,  while  an 
expression  of  regret  and  disgust  crossed  his  little  old-young 
face. 

l)on"t  sell   that   sort,  mister;   none  o'   our  club   don't. 
Its — low-lived.  " 

"What.'  You  don't  sell  \\\q.  Evening  lianiur.  llie  only 
independent  journal  in  the  city  }  " 

"  That's  about  the  size  on't, "  he  said  as  he  edged  him- 
.self,  a  veritable  bundle  of  tatters,  a  trifle  nearer  the  open 
grate. 

"  And  so  you  refuse  to  sell  the  Banner.      Why  is  that  .'  " 

"  'Taint  no  good,"  was  the  reply.  "  None  o'  us  likes  it. 
Yer  see,  cully,  it  sez  mean  things,  lies,  you  know,  about  a 
friend  o'  mine," 

"  And  so  the  Banner  abuses  your  friend  .'  And  what  does 
it  say  of  him  .'  " 

"  Aw,  sher!  it  called  him  a  mugwump,  an'  it  said  ez  ther' 
wa'n"t  no  backbone  to  him,  an'  ez  he  wuz  only  fitten  to  set 


THE  HEART   OF  OLD  HICKORY  ■       33 

the  pris'ncrs  loose,  an'  to  play  the  iicklle.  An'  it  said  a  lot 
about  a  feller  named  Ole  Poplar — '' 

"What!  " 

"Poplar?  Pen't  it  poplar?  Xaw,  cedar; — ash,  hick'rv 
— that's  it!  llick'ry.  (Jle  Hick'ry.  It  said  a  lot  about 
him;  an'  it  made  the  bovs  orful  mad,  an'  they  Avon 't  sell 
the  nasty  paper." 

"  Who  is  your  friend  ?  " 

"  Aw,  he  aint  n/y  friend  perzactly.  He's  Skinny "s  though, 
an'  all  the  boys  Stan's  up  for  Skinny." 

"  And  who  is  Skinny  ?  " 

"  Say,  cully,  wher'  was  you  raised  ?  Don't  you  know- 
Skinny  ?  " 

The  Executive  shook  his  head.      "  Is  he  a  newsboy  ?  " 

"  Htzvus — He  wuz  a  newsboy^ — till  yistiddy.  We  buried 
uv  him  yistiddy. " 

"  And  this  man  whom  the  Banner  abuses  was  Skinny's 
friend." 

"  Yes.  This  here  wuz  Skinny's  route.  I  took  it  yistiddy. 
Yer  see  Skinny  didn't  have  no  mammy  an'  no  folks,  an'  no 
meat  outer  his  bones, — that's  why  we  all  named  him  Skinny. 
He  wuz  jest  b-o-n-e-s.  An'  ther'  wuz  nobody  ter  tek  keer 
uv  him  when  he  wuz  sick,  an'  he  jest  up  an'  died." 

"  Tell  me  about  this  friend  of  Skinny's." 

"  The  Gov'ner  ?  " 

"  Was  it  the  Governor  ?  " 

"Say,  is  ther'  anybody  else  can  pardon  out  convic's  ? 
Say,  cully,  does  you  know  the  Gov'ner  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  go  on  with  your  story.  Tell  me  all  about 
Skinny  and — his  friend." 

"  Me  an'  him  wuz  on  the  pris'n  route,  till — yistiddy. 
Least  I  wuz  ther'  till  yistiddy.  Skinny  tuk  this  route  last 
year.  He  begged  it  fur  me  when  he — come  ter  quit,  because 
1  ben't  ez  strong  ez — Solermun,  you  know.  Wa'n't  he  the 
strong  un  ?  Solermun  or  iMerthusler,  1  furgit  which.  liut 
'twuz    when    we    wuz   ter    the    pris'n    route    1    larnt    about 


34  //■//./   .11  lis  nKO.Mc.()Oi.r. 

Skinn} 's  fritiul.  tlie  (Inv'mr,  you  know.  I'ir>t  tlicr'  wii/.  ole 
J;\ck  Nasbv  up  an'  jjot  j)arcli/.i(l,  an'  wa'n't  no  'n)unt  tcr 
noboiiy,  let  'lone  tin-  State,  lie  sulfcrcil  awful  toi»,  an'  so'cl 
his  wife.  An'  one  ilay  Skinny  saii.1  he  wuz  f^foin'  ter  write  a 
pcrtition  an"  i,Mt  all  the  'fishuls  ter  sii^n  it,  an'  .t,Mt  the 
(Jov'ner  ter  parJ'n  ole  Nasby  out.  'I'hey  all  sijj^neil  it^ — one 
o'  tlie  convic's  writ  it,  but  they  all  tol'  Skinny  cz  'twuz  no 
use,  'cause  hewouKln't  ilo  it.  An'  one  day,  don't  ycr  think 
when  ole  Na>by  wuz  layin'  on  the  hospittul  bunk  with  his 
dead  side  kivered  over  with  a  pris'n  blankit,  an'  hi.s  wife 
a-cryin'  bccase  the  ward'n  war  'blceged  ter  lock  her  out,  the 
Gov'ner  hisse'f  walked  in.  He  wuz  sorter  lame  his  se'f  yer 
know,  got  it  in  the  war.  An'  what  ycr  reckin  he  done  .'' 
Cried/  What  yer  think  o'  that,  cully.''  Cried;  an'  then  he 
called  the  man's  wife  back,  an'  pintcd  ter  the  half-dead 
convic',  an'  told  her  ter  '  fetch  him  liome. '  Ditl!  An'  the 
nex'  day  if  the  ^'<?«;/tv- didn't  tan  him!     ^'e^  jest  bet  it  did." 

"  But  the  best  uv  all  wuz  about  Ole  Bemis.  Yer  see, 
Bemis  wuz  a  banker;  a  reg'lar  rich  un.  An'  the  Banner 
said  '  he  orter  to  be  hung,  an'  would  be  if  the  Guv'ner'd 
let  him.  But  if  he'd  cry  a  little  the  Guv'ner'd  set  him  on 
his  feet  agin,  when  the  cotes  wuz  done  with  him.'  But  the 
cote  said  he  mus'  hang,  hang,  hang.  An'  i/ien  whatcher 
reckin  .'  What  do  yer  reckin,  cully  .-*  The  nex'  day  down 
come  a  little  yaller-headed  gal  ter  the  jail  a-kerryin'  uv  a 
pard'n.  An'  they  said  the  little  gal  come  up  ter  see  the 
Gov'ner,  an'  he  wouldn't  see  her  at  first.  But  she  gc^t  in  at 
last,  an'  begged  an'  begged  fur  the  ole   man  'bout  ter  hang. 

"  But  the  Gov'ner  wouldn't  lis'n,  till  all  't  once  she 
turned  ter  him  an'  sez  she,  '  Have>'o«  got  a  chile  .^  '  An' 
his  eyes  filt  up  in  a  minute,  an'  sez  he,  '  One,  at  Mount 
Olivet.'  That's  the  graveyard,  yer  know.  Then,  he  called 
his  sec't'ry  man.  An'  the  man  sez,  *  Is  it  wise  .-' '  An'  then 
the  Gov'ner  stood  up  gran'  like,  an'  sez  lie,  '  Hit's  right; 
and  that's  enough.'  Say,  cully,  whatcher  think  o'  that  .'' 
An'  whatcher  lookin'  at  out  the  winder  .' 


THB  HE^RT  OF  OLD  HICKORY  35 

"  Say,  cully,  does  the  firelight  hurt  yer  eyes,  makes  'em 
water  ?  They  looks  like  the  picture  o'  Skinny's  man.  Oh, 
but  hit's  a  good  picture.  It's  a  man,  layin'  in  bed.  Sick 
or  somethin',  I  reckin'.  An'  his  face  has  got  a  kind  o'  glory 
look.  An'  in  one  corner  is  a  big,  big  patch  o'  light.  An' 
plumb  square  in  the  middle  uv  it  is  an  angul :  a  gal  angul, 
I  reckin,  becase  it's  orful  pretty.  An'  she  has  a  book,  a 
gold  un;  an'  she's  writin'  down  names  in  it.  An'  the  man 
in  the  bed  is  watchin'  uv  her,  an'  tellin'  uv  her  what  ter  do; 
for  down  ter  the  bottom  ther's  some  gal'-writin'.  Skinny 
figgered  it  out  an'  it  said,  '  Wri/e  me  as  une  who  loves  his 
felloiv  men. '     Aint  that  scrumptious  .?  ' 

"  Say!  yorter  knowed  Skinny.  He  wuz  the  nicest  boy 
yevver  did  see.  He  knowed  ever'-thing,  he  did.  He  wuz 
a  plumb  good  un.  I  wish  you  could  see  Skinny's  picture 
anyhow.  He  set  a  sight  o'  store  by  it.  Skinny  did.  When 
he  wuz  a-dyin'  he  turned  ter  me,  an'  sez  he,  '  Skip,  hang 
the  Gov'ncr  so's  I  can  see  him.'  An'  when  I  done  it,  he 
sez,  sorter  smilin',  sez  he,  'Skip.''  Sez  I,  'Skinny.'  Sez 
he — so  soft  yer  Jes/  could  a-heerd  it;  sez  he,  '  Write  me  ez 
one  who  loves  his  fellow  men.'  An'  that  wuz  the  las'  word 
he  ever  said  on  this  earth. " 

There  was  a  sound  of  heavy  footsteps  coming  down  the 
gray  stone  corridor — a  creak,  groan,  and  bang. 

"  What's  that  .''  "  asked  the  newsboy,  starting  up. 

"  That  is  the  porter,  closing  up  for  the  night." 

The  tatters  stood  as  near  upright  as  tatters  may.  Not  a 
paper  sold;  he  remembered  it  too  late. 

"  Say!  yer  wouldn't  want  a  Jlera/dP  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Executive,  "  a  Herald  will  do." 

"  Say!   I  can't  change  a  dollar." 

The  Executive  smiled.  "Nevermind  the  change,"  said 
he,  "  and  be  sure  you  bring  me  to-morrow's  Herald." 

"  Say!   who  be  you  anyhow  }  " 

"  I  am  the  Governor  of  Tennessee,  Skippy. " 


3'>  HFSRY   CABOT  lODCli 

1  here  \v;is  a  low  jsoft  \vlii>tli;,  ;i  hurried  >lian\liling,  ami 
the  ponderous  door  closed  behind  him. 

The  Ciovernor  arose  and  began   lo  jmi  away  lii>  j)apers. 

Inasmuch  as  she  was  sorely  wronged  '  —  his  eye  fell  upon 
a  line  of  the  woman-inurtlerer's  long  petition.  W  as  this  a 
case  for  clemency  ?  The  crisp  paper  rattled  strangely  as  he 
unrolled  it,  ami  lixeil  his  own  name,  together  with  the  great 
seal  of  the  State.  The  critics  might  lash  to-morrow;  but 
io-night — he  lifteil  his  face  to  the  starless  sky  and  said: 
"  Write  me  as  one  who  loves  his  fellow  men." 


THE    FIGHT    OFF   SANTIAGO 

Rv  Hknrv  (,'ahoT  Lodgk,  Lawyer.  Kditor,  Author;  Member  of  Con- 
gress from  Massachusetts.  1886-93;  Senator.  1893 — .  Horn  in  Uoston, 
Mass.,  1850. 

'I'aken,   by  permission  of   the  publishers,   from   Lodge's  " 'J'lie   War  with  .Spain." 
Cop>Tight,  1899,  by  Harper  &  Brothers,  New  York. 

The  details  [of  the  fight  <-Ai  Santiago],  tlie  number  of 
shots,  the  ranges,  the  part  taken  by  each  ship,  the  positions 
of  the  fleet — all  alike  have  begun  to  fade  from  recollection 
even  now,  and  will  grow  still  dimmer  as  the  years  recede, 
liut  out  of  the  mist  of  events  and  the  gathering  darkness  of 
passing  time  the  great  fact  and  the  great  deed  stand  forth 
for  the  American  people  and  their  children's  children,  as 
white  and  shining  as  the  Santiago  channel  glaring  under  the 
search-lights  through  the  Cuban  night. 

They  remember,  and  will  always  remember,  that  hot 
summer  morning,  and  the  an.xiety,  only  half  whispered, 
which  overspread  the  land.  They  see,  and  will  always  see, 
the  American  ships  rolling  lazily  on  the  long  seas,  and  the 
sailors  just  going  to  Sunday  insi)ection.  Then  comes  the 
long  thin  trail  of  smoke  drawing  ncarL-r  the  harbr>r's  mouth. 
The  ships  see  it,  and  we  can  hear  the  cheers  ring  out,  for 
the  enemy  is  coming,  and  the  American  sailor  rejoices 
mightily  to  know  that  the  battle  is  set.      There  is  no  need 


THH  FIGHT  OFF  SANTIAGO  37 

of  signals,  no  need  of  orders.  The  patient,  long-watching 
admiral  has  given  direction  for  every  chance  that  may  befall. 
Every  ship  is  in  place;  and  they  close  in  upon  the  advancing 
enemy,  fiercely  pouring  shells  from  broadside  and  turret. 
'I'here  is  the  Gloucester  firing  her  little  shots  at  the  great 
cruisers,  and  then  driving  down  to  grapple  with  the  torpedo- 
boats.  There  are  the  Spanish  ships,  already  mortally  hurt, 
running  along  the  shore,  shattered  and  breaking  under  the 
lire  of  the  Indiana,  the  Iowa,  and  the  Texas;  there  is  the 
Brooklyn  racing  by  outside  to  head  the  fugitives,  and  the 
Oregon  dealing  death-strokes  as  she  rushes  forward,  forging 
to  the  front,  and  leaving  her  mark  everywhere  she  goes.  It 
is  a  captain's  fight,  and  they  all  fight  as  if  they  were  one 
man  with  one  ship.  On  they  go,  driving  through  the  water, 
firing  steadily  and  ever  getting  closer,  and  presently  the 
Spanish  cruisers,  helpless,  burning,  twisted  wrecks  of  iron, 
are  piled  along  the  shore,  and  we  see  the  young  ofi^icers  and 
men  of  the  victorious  ships  periling  their  lives  to  save  their 
beaten  enemies.  We  see  Wainwright  on  the  Gloucester^  as 
eager  in  rescue  as  he  was  swift  in  fight  to  avenge  the  Maine. 
We  hear  Philip  cry  out:  "Don't  cheer.  The  poor  devils 
are  dying,"  We  watch  Evans  as  he  hands  back  the  sword 
to  the  wounded  Eulate,  and  then  writes  in  his  report:  "  I 
cannot  express  my  admiration  for  my  magnificent  crew.  So 
long  as  the  enemy  showed  his  flag,  they  fought  like  American 
seamen ;  but  when  the  flag  came  down,  they  were  as  gentle 
and  tender  as  American  women."  They  all  stand  out  to 
us,  these  gallant  figures,  from  the  silent  admiral  to  the 
cheering  seamen,  with  an  intense  human  interest,  fearless  in 
fight,  brave  and  merciful  in  the  hour  of  victory. 


143297 


38  Ln.-i/<u:s  RI.MDi: 


THF.    I. ARK 

Py  C"ii\Kl.FS  RkaIiK.   Novelist,  ri.iywri^lit.      Horn  at  Tpsilcii,  I'.iij^land, 
1S14;   (lifd  in  Ix>iu](>n.   18S4. 

From  llie  novel  "  Ni-vcr  Too  I.atc  to  Mciul,"  publislieil  in  iS(.o  liy 'I'ickiior  and 
Fields,  Itoston. 

|Itw,»s  in  Australia  on  a  briplit  Sunday  morniiii;.  On  a  i:;rass-pl()t 
near  a  little  house  that  was  whitewashed  and  thatdiod  as  if  l)uiit  in 
l\njjlan<l.  thirty  or  forty  rouijh  nniiers  liad  leathered  to  listen  to  tlie  sonij 
of  a  lark.] 

Like  most  singors,  he  kept  tliiin  waiting:  a  l)it.  ]Uit  at 
last,  just  at  noon,  vlicn  the  mistress  of  the  liouse  had 
warranted  liim  to  sing,  the  little  feathered  exile  began  as  it 
were  to  tune  his  pipes.  The  savage  men  gathered  round  tlu- 
cage  that  moment,  and  amidst  a  dead  stillness  the  bird 
uttered  some  very  uncertain  chirps,  but  after  a  while  he 
seemed  to  revive  his  memories,  and  call  his  ancient  cadences 
back  to  him  one  by  one. 

And  then  the  same  sun  that  had  warmed  his  little  heart 
at  home  came  glowing  down  on  him  here,  and  he  gave 
music  back  for  it  more  and  more,  till  at  last,  amidst  the 
breathless  silence  and  the  glistening  eyes  of  the  rough 
diggers  hanging  on  his  voice,  out  burst  in  that  distant  land 
his  English  song. 

It  swelled  his  little  throat,  and  gushed  from  him  with 
thrilling  force  and  plenty;  and  every  time  he  checked  his 
song  to  think  of  its  theme, — the  green  meadows,  the  quiet- 
stealing  streams,  the  clover  he  first  soared  from,  and  the 
spring  he  loved  so  well, — a  loud  sigh  from  many  a  rough 
bosom,  many  a  wild  and  wicked  heart,  told  how  tight  the 
listeners  had  held  their  breath  to  hear  him.  And  when  he 
swelled  with  song  again,  and  poured  with  all  his  soul  the 
green  meadows,  the  quiet  brooks,  the  hone}--clover,  and  the 
English  spring,  the  rugged  mouths  opened  and  so  stayed, 
and  the  shaggy  lips  trembled,  and  more  than  one  tear 
trickled  from  fierce,  unbridled  hearts,  down  bronzed  and 
rugged  cheeks. 


MAINE  AT   GETTYSBURG  39 

Sweet  home! 

And  these  shaggy  men,  full  of  oaths  and  strife  and 
cupidity,  had  once  been  white-headed  boys,  and  most  of 
them  had  strolled  about  the  English  fields  with  little  sisters 
and  little  brothers,  and  seen  the  lark  rise  and  heard  him  sing 
this  very  song.  The  little  playmates  lay  in  the  church-yard, 
and  they  were  full  of  oaths  and  drink,  and  lusts  and 
remorses,  but  no  note  was  changed  in  this  immortal  song. 

And  so,  for  a  moment  or  two,  years  of  vice  rolled  away 
like  a  dark  cloud  from  their  memory,  and  the  past  shone 
out  in  the  song-shine;  they  came  back  bright  as  the 
immortal  notes  that  lighted  them, — those  faded  pictures  and 
those  fleeted  days;  the  cottage,  the  old  mother's  tears  when 
he  left  her  without  one  grain  of  sorrow;  the  village  church 
and  its  simple  chimes;  the  clover-field  hard  by,  in  which  he 
lay  and  gamboled  while  the  lark  praised  God  overhead;  the 
chubby  playmates;  the  sweet,  sweet  hours  of  youth,  and 
innocence,  and  home. 

MAINE   AT   GETTYSBURG 

By  Joshua  Lawrencp:  Chamberlain,  Soldier,  Educator,  Author, 
Statesman;  Lieutenant-Colonel  20th  Maine  Volunteers,  1862;  Brevetted 
Major-General,  1865;  Governor  of  Maine,  1867-70;  President  of 
Bowdoin  College,  1871-83.      Born  in  Brewer,  Maine,  1828. 

From  an  address  delivered  at  the  dedication  of  the  Maine  Monuments  on  tlie  Battle- 
field of  Gettysburg,  October  3,  1889. 

The  State  of  INIaine  stands  here  to-day  for  the  first  time  in 
her  own  name.  In  other  days  she  was  here  indeed — here  in 
power,  here  in  majesty,  here  in  glory.  But  to-day  she  stands 
here,  in  a  service  of  mingled  recognitions;  bending  sorrow- 
fully above  the  dust  to  which  have  returned  again  the  price- 
less jewels  offered  from  her  bosom;  and  stretching  out  her 
hand,  of  justice  and  of  grace,  to  raise  along  these  silent  lines 
of  battle,  monuments  eloquent  of  her  costly  devotion  and  of 
the  great  reward. 

To-day  we  stand  on  an  awful  arena,  where  character  which 


40  JOSHL.-I   l.liyRliNllE   ai.tMlil.Rl.,nN 

was  tlic  giowili  til  centuries  was  tested  ami  (.letennineil  by 
the  issues  of  a  sinj^le  day.  We  are  compassed  about  by  a 
clouil  of  witnesses;  not  alone  the  shadowy  ranks  of  those 
who  wrestled  here,  but  the  greater  parties  of  the  action  — 
they  for  whom  these  things  were  done,— the  Stale,  the 
L'nion,  and  the  I'eojjle.  And  these  are  One.  Let  us — from 
the  arena — contemplate  them,  the  spiritual  spectators. 

There  is  an  aspect  in  which  the  t[uestion  at  issue  might 
seem  to  be  of  forms,  and  not  of  substance.  It  was,  on  its 
face,  a  question  of  government,  whether  the  mere  will  ox 
whim  of  any  member  of  our  jtolitical  system  might  destroy 
the  body  and  dissolve  the  soul  of  the  Great  People.  This 
was  the  political  question  submitted  to  the  arbitrament  of 
arms.  But  the  victt)ry  was  of  great  politics  over  small.  It 
was  the  right  reason,  the  moral  consciousness,  and  solemn 
resolve  of  the  people  rectifying  its  wavering  exterior  lines 
according  to  the  life-lines  of  its  organic  being. 

There  is  a  phrase  abroad  which  obscures  the  legal  and  the 
moral  questions  involved  in  the  issue, — imleed  which  dis- 
torts and  falsifies  history:  "  The  war  between  the  States." 
Underneath  this  phrase  lies  the  false  assumption  that  our 
Union  is  but  a  compact  of  States.  But  this  was  not  our 
theory  nor  our  ju.stification.  The  flag  we  bore  into  the  field 
was  not  that  of  particular  States,  no  matter  how  many  nor 
how  loyal,  arrayed  against  other  States.  It  was  the  flag  of 
the  Union,  the  flag  of  the  people,  vindicating  the  right  and 
charged  with  the  duty  of  preventing  any  factions,  no  matter 
how  many  or  under  what  pretense,  from  breaking  up  tliis 
common  Country. 

No  one  of  us  would  disregard  the  manly  qualities  and 
earnest  motives  among  those  who  permitted  themselves  to 
strike  at  the  consecrated  life  of  the  Union.  But  the  best  of 
virtues  may  be  enlisted  in  the  worst  of  causes.  There  are 
times  when  it  is  more  natural  to  act  than  to  reason,  and 
easier  to  fight  than  to  be  right.  But  the  men  who  followed 
that  signal  made  a  terrible  mistake.      They  did  not  under- 


MAIN  I:    AT  GETTYSBURG  41 

stimd  this  ricli  compot^itc  nature  of  tlic  great  people,  l)orn  of 
eternal  energies  of  freedom;  incorporate  under  the  guaran- 
ties of  highest  law;  dedicated  to  immortal  life  in  the  great 
covenants  of  mutual  human  faith. 

We  fought  against  no  State,  but  for  its  deliverance.  We 
fouglit  the  enemies  of  our  common  country,  to  overthrow 
the  engines  and  symbols  of  its  destruction  wherever  found 
upon  its  soil.  We  fought  no  better,  perhaps,  than  they. 
We  exhibited,  perhaps,  no  higher  individual  qualities.  But 
the  cause  for  which  we  fought  was  higher.  That  thought 
was  our  power.  We  took  rank  by  its  height,  and  not  of  our 
individual  selves. 

It  is  something  great  and  greatening  to  cherish  an  ideal; 
to  act  in  the  light  of  a  truth  that  is  far  away  and  far  above; 
to  act  for  remoter  ends  than  self,  for  higher  good  and  for 
interests  other  than  our  own.  To  work  out  all  the  worth  of 
manhood;  to  gain  free  range  and  play  for  all  specific  differ- 
ences; to  find  a  theater  and  occasion  for  exercise  of  the 
highest  virtues,  we  need  the  widest  organization  of  the 
human  forces  consistent  with  the  laws  of  cohesion  and  self- 
direction. 

A  great  and  free  country  is  not  merely  defense  and  protec- 
tion. For  every  earnest  spirit,  it  is  opportunity  and  inspira- 
tion. And  the  best  of  each  being  given  to  all,  the  best  of 
all  returns  to  each. 

'I"he  thought  goes  deeper.  The  inspiration  of  a  noble 
cause  involving  human  interests  wide  and  far,  enables  men 
to  do  things  they  did  not  dream  themselves  capable  of  before 
and  which  they  were  not  capable  of  alone.  This  conscious- 
ness of  belonging,  vitally,  to  something  beyond  individuality ; 
of  being  part  of  the  personality  that  reaches  we  know  not 
where  in  space  and  in  time,  greatens  the  heart  to  the  limit 
of  the  soul's  ideal  and  builds  out  the  supreme  of  character. 

It  was  something  like  this,  I  think,  which  marked  our 
motive.  We  rose  in  soul  above  the  things  which  even  the 
Declaration    of    Inder)endence    pronounces   the    inalienably 


42  JOSHIJ   l..-iU'RENCF.    CH.-tMBF.Rl.AlN 

riglits  of  human  iiatun-.  1  laiipimss,  lilnrty,  lifi-  \vc  laid 
on  the  altar  of  offcriny:.  or  oniinitud  to  tlic  furies  of 
destruction,  while  our  niimls  wcrt-  lifted  u]i  to  a  great 
thought  anil  our  hearts  swelleil  to  its  measure.  We  were 
beckoned  on  by  the  vision  of  destiny;  we  saw  our  Country 
moving  forward  charged  with  the  sacred  trusts  of  man.  We 
believed  in  its  glorious  career;  tlie  j)ower  of  high  aims  and 
of  strong  purpose ;  the  onward,  upward  path  of  history,  to 
(lod.  This  is  the  spirit  in  which,  having  set  on  high  the  old 
flag  telling  of  one  life  and  one  body,  one  freedom  and  one 
law,  over  all  the  peo])le  and  all  the  land  between  the  four 
great  waters,  we  now  come,  as  it  were,  home;  we  look  into 
each  other's  eyes;  we  speak  in  softer  tones;  we  gather  under 
the  atmosphere  of  the  sacred  thoughts  and  memories, — like 
the  high,  pure  air  that  shines  down  upon  us  to-day,  flooding 
these  fields  where  cloud  and  flash  and  thunder-roll  of  battle 
enshrouded  us  and  them  in  that  great  three-days'  burial, — 
to  celebrate  this  resurrection  ;  to  rear  on  these  far-away  fields 
memorials  of  familiar  names,  and  to  honor  the  State  whose 
honor  it  was  to  rear  such  manhood  and  keep  such  faith  that 
she  might  have  part  in  such  far-aw^ay  things. 

She  stood  on  these  hills  and  slopes  a  generation  ago,  ol 
the  foremost  of  the  people's  defenders.  Whether  on  the 
first,  the  second,  or  the  third  day's  battle:  whether  on  the 
right  caught  and  cut  to  pieces  by  the  great  shears-blades  of 
two  suddenly  enclosing  hostile  columns;  on  the  left,  rolled 
back  by  a  cyclone  of  unappeasable  assault ;  or  on  the  center, 
dashed  upon  in  an  agony  of  desperation,  terrible,  sublime; 
wherever  there  was  a  front,  the  guns  of  INIaine  thundered 
and  her  colors  stood.  And  when  the  long,  dense,  surging 
fight  w-as  over,  and  the  men  who  made  and  marked  the  line 
of  honor  were  buried  where  they  fell,  the  name  of  INIaine  ran 
along  these  crests  and  banks,  a  blazonry  of  ennobled  blood. 

Now  you  have  gathered  these  bodies  here.  You  station 
them  here  on  the  ground  they  held, — part  of  the  earth  they 
glorified,  part  also  of  the  glory  that  is  to  be.     Ever  hence- 


BANTY    TIM  43 

forth  under  the  rolling  suns,  when  the  hills  are  touched  to 
splendor  with  the  morning  light,  or  smile  a  farewell  to  the 
lingering  day,  the  flush  that  broods  upon  them  shall  be  rich 
with  a  strange  and  crimson  tone, — not  of  the  earth,  nor  yet 
of  the  sky,  but  mediator  and  hostage  between  the  two. 

Reverent  men  and  women  from  afar,  and  generations  that 
know  us  not  and  that  we  know  not  of,  heart-drawn  to  see 
where  and  by  whom  great  things  were  suffered  and  done  for 
them,  shall  come  to  this  deathless  field,  to  ponder  and 
dream;  and,  lo!  the  shadow  of  a  mighty  presence  shall  wrap 
them  in  its  bosom,  and  the  power  of  the  vision  pass  into 
their  souls. 

This  is  the  great  reward  of  service.  To  live  far  out  and 
on  in  the  life  of  others;  this  is  the  mystery  of  the  Christ, — 
to  give  life's  best  for  such  high  sake  that  it  shall  be  found 
again  unto  life  eternal. 


BANTY  TIM 

By  John  Hay,  Author,  Poet,  Lawyer,  Diplomat;  Ambassador  to  Eng- 
and,  1897-98;  Secretary  of  State,  1898.      Born  in  Salem,  Ind.,  1838. 

Taken,  by  permission  of  the  publishers,  from  "  Poems  by  John  Hay,"  published  by 
Houghton.  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston. 

I  reckon  I  git  your  drift,  gents, — 

You  'low  the  boy  sha'n't  stay; 
This  is  a  white  man's  country; 

You're  Dimocrats,  you  say; 
And  whereas,  and  seein',  and  wherefore, 

The  times  bein'  all  out  of  j'inl. 
The  nigger  has  got  to  mosey 

From  the  limits  o'  Spunky  P'int! 

Le's  reason  the  thing  a  minute: 

I'm  an  old-fashioned  Dimocrat  too, 
Though  I  laid  my  politics  out  o'  the  way 

For  to  keep  till  the  war  was  through. 


A\  JOHX   H.4Y 

Hut  I  come  liiuk  lure,  allowin' 

To  v<Uc  as  I  useil  to  do, 
Though  it  gravels  mc  like  the  ilevil  to  train 
Along  o'  sich  fools  as  you. 

Now  (log  my  cats  ef  I  kin  see, 

In  all  the  light  of  the  day. 
What  ytni've  got  to  do  with  the  (|uestion 

Ef  Tim  shill  go  or  stav. 
And  furder  than  that  I  give  notice, 

Ef  one  of  you  tetches  the  boy, 
He  kin  check  his  trunks  to  a  warmer  clime 

Than  he'll  find  in  Illanoy. 

Why,  blame  your  hearts,  jest  hear  me! 

Von  know  that  ungodly  day 
When  our  left  struck  \'icksburg  Heights,  how  ripped 

And  torn  and  tattered  wc  lay. 
When  the  rest  retreated  I  stayed  behind, 

Eur  reasons  sufficient  to  me, — 
With  a  rib  caved  in,  and  a  leg  on  a  strike, 

I  sprawled  on  that  cursed  glacee. 

Lord  I   how  the  hot  sun  went  for  us. 

And  br'iled  and  blistered  and  burned! 
How  the  Rebel  bullets  whizzed  round  us 

When  a  cuss  in  his  death-grip  turned ! 
Till  along  toward  dusk  I  seen  a  thing 

1  couldn't  believe  for  a  spell  : 
That  nigger — that  Tim — was  a  crawlin'  to  me 

Through  that  fire-proof,  gilt-edged  hell! 

The  Rebels  seen  him  as  quick  as  me, 

And  the  bullets  buzzed  like  bees; 
But  he  jumped  for  me,  and  shouldered  me. 

Though  a  shot  brought  him  once  to  his  kneesj 


AGAINST  EXPANSION  45 

But  he  staggered  up,  and  packed  me  off, 

With  a  dozen  stumbled  and  falls, 
Till  safe  in  our  lines  he  drapped  us  both, 

His  black  hide  riddled  with  balls. 

So,  my  gentle  gazelles,  thar's  my  answer, 

And  here  stays  Banty  Tim: 
He  trumped  Death's  ace  for  me  that  day, 

And  I'm  not  goin'  back  on  him! 
You  may  rezoloot  till  the  cows  come  home, 

But  ef  one  of  you  tetches  the  boy, 
He'll  wrastle  his  hash  to-night  in  hell. 

Or  my  name's  not  Tilmon  Joy! 


AGAINST  EXPANSION 

By  Henry  U.  Johnson,   Lawyer;  Member  of  Congress  from  Indiana, 

1891-99. 

From  a   speech   made   in   the   House  of   Representatives,   February  22,   18^8.     See 
Congressional  Recorii,  Feb.  22,  1898. 

Mr.  Chairman,  I  antagonize  the  pending  treaty  for 
another  reason.  It  sets  a  precedent — a  bad  precedent,  a 
vicious  precedent;  a  precedent  which,  I  imagine,  will  be 
followed,  and  that,  too,  at  a  very  early  day.  You  will  find, 
gentlemen,  that  in  this  matter  "increase  of  appetite"  will 
"  grow  by  what  it  feeds  on."  This  is  the  most  lamentable 
feature  of  this  entire  transgression,  if,  indeed,  we  are  at  all 
disposed  to  take  the  first  step  in  the  transgression. 

To-day  the  cry  is,  "  Give  us  Hawaii!  "  Yield  to  this  in 
a  moment  of  weakness,  and  to-morrow  you  will  hear  the  cry, 
"  Give  us  Cuba!  "  Accede  to  this  in  an  hour  of  irresolu- 
tion, and  the  day  after  you  will  hear  the  cry,  "  Give  us 
Samoa!"  And  each  one  of  these  demands  will  be  fortified 
by  the  artful  sophistries  evolved  from  the  fertile  brains  of 
gentlemen  who  know  full  well  how  to  pander  to  the  national 
vanity  and  to  appeal  to  the  national  cupidity. 


4C>  HHNKr    I'.  JOHNSON 

Such  a  policy  excites  cupidity;  it  provokes  avarice;  it 
breeds  oppression;  it  iullicts  injustice;  it  levies  taxes;  it 
incurs  expenses;  it  stirs  up  strife;  it  sheds  human  blood;  it 
is  a  step  in  the  direction  of  dismemberment;  and  the  inevit- 
able goal  to  which  the  nation  tends  which  follows  it  is  that 
of  national  disintegration  and  decay. 

Let  the  nations  of  the  OKI  World  go  on  pursuing  this 
policy  to  their  heart's  content,  if  they  desire  to  do  so.  Let 
them,  I  beg  you,  have  a  full  monopoly  of  the  evils  which 
follow  in  its  train.  Let  them  saddle  their  people  with 
enormous  drbts  that  tlicy  may  c(]uij)  great  navies  and  raise 
great  armies  to  precipitate  them  into  conllicts  in  which  they 
spend  millions  of  treasure  and  shed  oceans  of  human  blood. 

Let  the  mother  country,  less  fortunately  situated  than 
ourselves — obliged  by  the  narrow  confines  of  her  island  home 
to  draw  upon  her  colonies  for  subsistence  and  to  draw  upon 
them  also  largely  for  her  commerce  and  her  wealth — boast, 
if  she  pleases,  that  the  sun  never  goes  down  upon  Briti^-h 
soil.  We  can  point  her  to  the  fact  that  neither  does  the  sun 
go  down  upon  the  wretchedness  and  misery  which  her 
remorseless  policy  has  produced. 

We  can  point  her  to  the  revolts  in  India,  to  the  difficulty 
of  maintaining  her  supremacy  in  South  Africa,  to  the 
enormous  expense  of  keeping  up  her  lines  of  communication, 
to  the  wars  and  rumors  of  wars  which  bring  anxiety  to  the 
faces  and  sadness  to  the  hearts  of  her  people.  We  can  point 
her — and  we  can  do  it  with  pardonable  pride — to  the  flower 
of  her  colonies,  which  for  seven  long  years  she  sought  by  the 
expenditure  of  money  and  blood  to  retain,  breaking  away 
from  her  grasp  and  in  a  little  over  a  century,  by  pursuing 
directly  the  opposite  policy  to  that  which  she  has  pursued 
in  this  respect,  not  only  rivaling  but  outstripping  her  in 
progress  and  in  material  development  and  in  ever}'thing  that 
makes  a  nation  great  and  respected  in  the  eyes  of  mankind. 

No,  Mr.  Chairman,  while  these  nations  are  teaching 
avarice,  let  us  preach  contentment.     While  they  arc  exciting 


AGAINST  EXPANSION  47 

by  threats  of  war,  let  us  soothe  b}'  promises  of  perpetual 
peace.  While  they  are  inflicting  suffering  and  misery,  let  us 
dispense  happiness  and  prosperity. 

Peace  hath  her  victories 
No  less  renown' d  than  war. 

Let  it  be  our  happy  lot  to  achieve  those  bloodless  triumphs 
which,  while  they  will  exalt  and  enrich  us  as  a  people,  will 
not  derogate  in  the  least  from  the  happiness  and  welfare  of 
any  other  nation  under  the  light  of  the  shining  sun.  Let  us 
heed  the  advice  and  example  of  George  Washington,  that 
great  and  wise  patriot  whose  birth  is  this  instant  being  com- 
memorated throughout  the  entire  land,  and  avoid  all 
entangling  alliances  with  the  other  countries  of  the  earth. 
Let  us  turn  our  attention  to  the  development  of  our  own 
resources  and  to  the  upbuilding  and  upholding  of  that  which 
is  already  ours. 

We  have  here,  Mr.  Chairman,  as  I  said  before,  70,000,000 
people,  intelligent,  thrifty,  ingenious,  and  patriotic.  We 
have  an  empire  for  our  home.  Our  soil  is  teeming  with 
natural  riches,  which  await  the  deft  hand  of  labor,  seconded 
by  the  power  of  capital,  to  take  them  from  their  hiding- 
places  and  convert  them  into  articles  of  ornament  and  use. 
We  have  fields  to  plant  and  to  sow.  We  have  crops  to 
harvest  and  to  garner.  We  have  mines  to  open  and  work. 
We  have  mills  and  factories  to  operate.  We  are  yet  in  the 
very  infancy  of  our  resources,  in  the  very  morning  of  our 
development. 

Our  great  navigable  rivers,  our  railroads  whose  steel  bands 
form  the  fretwork  of  our  continent,  are  lying  ready  to  convey 
to  all  classes  of  our  population,  in  every  portion  of  our 
domain,  these  products  of  the  field,  the  mine,  and  the 
factory;  and  the  great  ocean  vessels,  with  their  dark  hulls, 
are  lying  at  our  seaboard  ports,  ready  to  transport  these 
things  to  the  various  nations  of  the  globe  and  to  receive 
back  from  them  in  trade  those  things  which  are  necessary  for 
our  comfort  and  our  happiness. 


ROBFRT  CRMNT 

Ml.  riiairman,  if  in  tliis  rnuTgcnty  wc  will  only  adliere 
t<^  that  which  is  right,  if  we  will  only  be  true  to  our  teach- 
ings and  our  traditions,  within  twentv-fivc  years  to  come 
events  will  amply  vindicate  our  choice. 

We  can  then  look  back  upon  a  jirogress  more  marvelous 
even  than  that  which  has  marked  our  career  in  the  past,  and 
which  has  exciteil  the  admiration  of  the  whole  world.  We 
can  then  lay  our  patriotic  and  jK-aceful  achievements  side  bv 
side  with  the  achievements  of  any  nation  which  has  in  the 
meantime  pursued  a  policy  contrary  to  our  own  wiiii 
emotions  of  pride  and  e.vultation  at  the  result. 

We  will  then  thank  (lod  with  grateful  hearts  that  in  the 
hour  of  temptation  we  had  the  moral  courage  to  say  "  no," 
and  the  resolution  to  turn  away  from  the  enticement  of  those 
who  would  lure  us  from  the  plain  path  of  duty  and  lead  us 
in  a  new  ilcparture  along  the  lines  of  a  mistaken  policy 
whose  final  destination  no  power  short  of  the  Supreme  Ruler 
of  the  universe  can  foretell. 

THE    BOAT-RACE 

Bv    Robert   Grant,  Lawyer,  Judge,   Author.      Roni  in  Boston,  Mass.. 

1852. 

Reprinted,  by  permission  of  the  publishers,  from  "  Jack  Hall,"  copyriglit,  1887,  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York. 

The  course  of  the  boat-race  was  to  be  two  miles  in  all; 
straight  away  for  a  mile  to  a  flagged  buoy  and  back  again 
to  another  flagged  buoy  abreast  of  the  boat-house.  The 
three  boats  have  turned  the  first  buoy  and  are  now  only  half 
a  mile  from  home. 

"Steady  now,"  murmurs  Jack,  between  his  teeth.  He 
knows  from  Tom's  e.xertions  that  his  rival  is  spurting  and 
putting  all  his  vitality  into  his  pace.  A  terrible  moment  of 
sustained  effort  follows,  at  the  end  of  which  Tom  lashes  the 
air  with  a  misplaced  stroke,  the  water  splashes,  and  our 
hero's  shell  surging  forward,  comes  on  a  level  with  its  fore- 
runner, battles  with  it  for  twenty  yards  of  struggling  agony 


r/y/;    BOAT-RACE  49 

on  the  part  of  the  doomed  champion,  and  leaps  to  the  front 
at  last.      Jack  is  ahead,  and  only  a  quarter  of  a  mile  left! 

Tom  is  beaten.  And  now  for  the  Doctor.  Where  is  he  .? 
No  need  to  ask  that  question,  friend  Jack,  if  you  lift  your 
eyes.  Tom  is  beaten,  not  only  by  you  but  by  the  Doctor 
also;  and  though  your  most  dreaded  enemy  is  still  in  your 
rear,  the  nose  of  his  boat  is  almost  on  a  line  with  your  stern, 
and  he  is  quickening  at  every  stroke. 

What  a  babel  of  cheers  and  exclamations  bursts  forth  from 
the  waving,  transported  crowd  along  the  bank !  They  begin 
to  know  who  is  who  now,  and  can  tell  beyond  the  shadow 
of  a  doubt  that  the  crimson  and  black  and  the  blue  and 
white  are  having  a  noble  struggle  for  the  lead. 

"  Jack  Hall  is  ahead !  Hall!  Hall!  No,  he  isn't!  Hit 
her  up  Doctor!  Hurrah  for  Doctor!  Hurrah  for  Hall! 
Hurrah  for  the  Doctor!  Tom,  where  are  you  .?  Bonsall! 
Bonsall!     H-A-L-L!     H-A-L-L!  " 

The  tumult  is  maddening.  Can  it  be  possible  that  Jack 
Hall,  who,  on  the  whole,  before  the  race,  was  rated  lowest 
of  the  three,  is  going  to  break  the  school  record  and  beat 
the  invincible  Doctor  in  one  and  the  same  breath  .?  It  looks 
like  it,  if  he  can  hold  his  own  for  two  hundred  yards  more. 
It  looks  like  it,  decidedly,  and  there  is  plenty  of  clear  water 
still  between  the  winning  goal  and  the  foremost  shell ;  and 
see,  the  Doctor  is  spurting  with  a  vengeance — look! — look! 
— and  is  he  not  gaining,  too  ? 

The  Doctor  has  crept  up,  no  doubt  about  that.  The  nose 
of  his  shell  is  now  well  beyond  Jack's  outrigger,  and  he  is 
speeding  like  the  wind.  Jack  is  feeling  terribly  tired,  his 
throat  that  he  thought  parched  at  the  start  burns  as  if  it  were 
on  fire,  and  his  eyes  seem  ready  to  start  out  of  his  head. 
His  crimson  handkerchief  has  fallen  over  his  eyes,  but  he 
gives  himself  a  shake  and  it  falls  to  his  neck,  leaving  his 
brow  refreshingly  free.  He  has  vanquished  Tom  anyway. 
So  much  to  be  thankful  for.  Tom  is  a  length  behind, 
struggling  still,  like  the  man  he  is,  but  hopelessly  vanquished 


50  ROnrRT   CR.-INT 

all  the  same.  jack  turns  liis  licad,  rcincinliering  t<i  keep 
cdol  if  lie  can,  ami  sii::hts  the  K"'^'-  ^"^'t  more  than  one 
luuulreil  anil  li(ty  yards  lett!  The  reviiberatinL!:  veils  and 
eheers  are  settini;  his  blooil  ablaze.  lie  can  scarcely  see, 
but  he  knows  he  has  not  spurted  yet.  He  is  neck  and  neck 
with  the  Doctor  now.  There  can  be  iiDtliiiif;  to  choose 
between  them. 

The  time  has  come  now,  our  hero  knows,  to  put  in  any 
spurt  that  is  left  in  him.  (Gripping  the  handles  of  his  oars 
like  a  vise  and  shutting  his  eyes,  Jack  throws  all  his  vital 
powers  into  one  grand  effort,  which,  to  his  supreme  happi- 
ness, is  answered  by  a  great  roar  from  the  shore. 

"Hall!  Hall!  Hurrah!  Nobly  done,  Hall!  Hall 
wins!     Row,  Doctor,  row!  " 

The  Doctor  is  rowing  with  all  his  might,  you  may  be  sure 
of  that;  but  he  has  not  counted  on  the  staying  powers  of  his 
adversary.  He  can  do  no  more  than  he  is  tloing,  and  this 
final  spurt  of  Jack's,  exhausting  as  it  must  have  been  wer.-^ 
the  race  to  be  a  quarter  of  a  mile  longer,  will  carry  the  day. 
The  Doctor  can  hardly  catch  him  now. 

Jack  has  opened  his  eyes  and  takes  in  tlie  situation.  Tlie 
din  of  applause  is  tremendous.  If  he  can  hold  out  for  si-K 
strokes  more,  the  victory  is  his. 

One  stroke. 

"Hall!      Hall!"      "Go  it,  Doctor!  " 

Two  strokes. 

"  Jack!  "       "Doctor,  go  it!  "     "  Tom,  where  are  you  ?  " 

"  Tom's  in  the  soup!  " 

Three  strokes. 

"H-A-L-L!"      "Doctor!" 

Four  strokes. 

"  Hall  wins!  Hall  wins!  "  "  Jack,  your  mother's  look- 
ing at  you!  " 

Five  strokes. 

"Hurrah!  Huzzah!  Hurrah!  Hall!  Hall!  Doctor) 
Doctor!  " 


IVH^T   THE  FLAG  MEANS  51 

Six  strokes. 

Panting,  breathless,  and  bewildered  by  the  deafening 
cheers.  Jack  is  made  aware  only  by  the  sight  of  the  flagged 
buoy  shooting  past  his  oar-blade  that  he  has  won  the  race 
and  is  champion  of  Utopia. 


WHAT    THE    FLAG    MEANS 

By  Henry  Cabot  Lodge,  Lawyer,  Editor,  Author;  Member  of  Con- 
gress from  Massachusetts,  1886-93;  Senator,  i8q3 — .  Born  in 
Boston,  Mass.,  1850. 

From  a  speech  before  the  Republican  State  Convention  of  Massacliusetts,  March  27, 
i3v6.     See  Boston  daily  papers  for  March  28,  1896. 

No  one  has  a  greater  admiration  than  I  for  the  marvelous 
achievements  of  the  American  people  in  the  last  century,  for 
the  conquest  of  this  mighty  continent,  for  all  the  material 
welfare  which  has  sprung  up  as  if  by  magic  from  the  Atlantic 
to  the  Pacific.  Our  business  enterprise,  our  business  intelli- 
gence, our  business  activity,  are  among  the  glories  of  the 
Republic.  I  have  labored  ever  since  I  have  been  in  public 
life  to  advance  by  every  means  in  my  power  every  measure 
that  makes  for  the  business  interests  of  the  country.  No 
one  values  their  importance  more  highly  than   I. 

But,  gentlemen,  I  have  seen  it  constantly  stated,  and  this 
is  the  point  I  wish  to  make — that  Ave  must  not  deal  with 
anything  but  business  questions. 

Now,  there  is  a  great  deal  more  than  that  in  tlie  life  of 
every  great  nation.  There  are  patriotism,  love  of  country, 
pride  of  race,  courage,  manliness,  the  things  which  money 
cannot  make  and  which  money  cannot  buy. 

When  we  look  at  that  flag,  what  is  it  that  makes  our 
hearts  throb  ?  If  you  see  it  in  a  foreign  land,  after  months 
of  separation,  what  is  it  that  makes  your  throat  choke  and 
your  eyes  get  damp  ?  Is  it  because  a  great  many  men  have 
made  money  under  it  ?  I  believe  that  that  flag  is  a  great 
deal  more  than  the  sign  of  a  successful  national  shop,  never 


52  Hi:\KY   C.IHOT   LODGE 

to  be  untuilcil  tor  fear  that  the  trailer  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  way  may  liave  his  feelings  ruflleil ;  1  think  it  is  a  great 
deal  more  than  that.  And  when  I  look  at  it,  I  ilo  not  sie 
ami  you  do  not  sec  there  the  graven  image  of  tlic  ilolhir;  you 
ilo  not  reail  there  the  motto  of  the  epicure,  "  Let  us  eat  and 
ilrink,  {or  to-morrow  we  die."  No;  you  read  on  that  Hag 
the  oKl  I.atm  motto,  "  IVr  aspcra  ad  astra.  "  Through  toil 
and  eontliet  to  the  stars. 

Vou  do  not  see  the  ilollar  on  it.  But  when  you  look, 
and  your  heart  swells  within  you  as  you  look,  the  memories 
that  come  are  very  different.  If  you  see  any  faces  there,  they 
are  the  faces  of  Washington  and  his  Continentals  behind 
him,  marching  from  defeat  at  Long  Island  to  victory  at 
Trenton,  to  misery  at  Valley  Forge,  to  final  triumph  at 
Yorktown.  Look  again  and  we  all  see  the  face  of  Lincoln, 
The  mighty  hosts  are  there  of  the  men  who  have  lived  for 
their  country  and  given  their  lives  for  their  country  and 
labored  for  it,  each  in  his  separate  way,  and  believed  in  it 
and  loved  it.  They  are  all  there,  from  the  great  chiefs  to 
the  boys  who  fell  in  Baltimore.  That  is  what  I  see,  that  is 
what  you  see.  That  is  why  we  love  it,  because  it  means  this 
great  country  and  all  the  people.  It  means  all  the  struggles 
and  sufferings  we  have  gone  through,  all  our  hopes,  all  our 
aspirations.  It  means  that  we  are  a  great  nation  and  intend 
to  take  a  nation's  part  in  the  family  of  nations.  It  means 
that  we  are  the  guardians  of  this  Western  Hemisphere  and 
will  not  have  it  rashly  invaded.  It  means  the  one  successful 
experiment  of  representative  democracy.  It  means  victorious 
democracy.  That  is  what  it  means,  and  that  is  what  I  see 
there  anil  tliat  is  what  you  see  there.  And,  much  as  I  care 
for  business  and  economic  questions,  I  never  will  admit  that 
they  are  all  or  that  the  duty  of  a  public  man  ceases  with 
them.  There  are  other  questions  that  must  be  dealt  with 
also.  I  never  will  admit  that  that  beloved  flag  is  to  me 
merely  the  symbol  of  a  land  where  I  can  live  in  rich  content 


^IGAINST    Ttll-    SrOl/S   SYSTEM  53 

and  make  money.      Xo;   I  see  it  as  the  American   poet  saw- 
it: 

"  And  fixed  as  yonder  orb  divine 

That  saw  thy  bannered  blaze  unfurled, 
Shall  thy  proud  stars  resplendent  shine 
The  guard  and  glory  of  the  world." 


AGAINST   THE    SPOILS   SYSTEM 

By  Henry  van  Dyke,  Clergyman,  Professor,  Author,  Poet;  Pastor 
Brick  Presbyterian  Church,  New  York,  N.  Y..  1882-99;  Professor  ot 
English,  Princeton  University,  1899 — . 

From  a  sermon  delivered  in  New  York,  N.  Y.,  before  tlie  Sons  of  the  Revolution  in 
New  York  State,  February  24,  1895.     See  New  York  J'ribunt-,  Feb.  25,  1895. 

Let  rae  here  speak  plain  words.  I  say  without  hesitation 
that  the  Spoils  System  is  an  organized  treason  against  the 
Republic  and  transgression  against  the  moral  law.  It  is  a 
gross  and  sordid  iniquity.  Its  emblem  should  not  be  the 
eagle,  but  the  pelican,  because  it  has  the  largest  pouch.  It 
shamelessly  defies  three  of  the  Ten  Commandments.  It 
lies,  when  it  calls  a  public  oflice  a  spoil.  It  covets,  when  it 
desires  to  control  that  office  for  the  benefit  of  party.  It 
steals,  when  it  converts  that  office  from  the  service  of  the 
commonwealth,  into  a  gift  to  "reward"  a  partisan,  or  a 
sacrifice  to  "placate"  a  faction.  And  for  how  many  in- 
direct violations  of  the  other  commandments,  in  Sabbath- 
breaking,  blasphemy,  adultery,  and  murder,  the  Spoils 
System  is  indirectly  responsible,  let  the  private  history  of  the 
"  rings  "  and  "  halls  "  which  it  has  created,  answer. 

But  it  is  an  idle  amusement  for  clever  cynics  in  the  news- 
papers, and  amiable  citizens  in  their  clubs,  to  vituperate  the 
Ring  and  the  Boss,  while  we  approve,  sanction,  or  even 
tolerate  the  vicious  principle  "To  the  victors  belong  the 
spoils."  This  principle  is  the  root  of  the  evils  which  afflict 
us.  There  can  be  no  real  cure  except  one  which  is  radical. 
Police  investigations  and  periodical  attempts  to  "  drive  the 


54  Hl\H)     /'.-/.V   /)>A/r 

rascals  out  "  do  iu>t  p;o  ilcc'|>  tniniL;li.  W'c  must  sec  ami  say 
ami  fed  that  the  wljole  Si)oiIs  System  from  top  to  bottom, 
is  a  flagrant  immorality  and  a  fertile  mother  of  vices.  The 
Ring  does  not  form  itself  out  of  the  air;  it  is  bred  in  the 
system.  A  lioss  is  simply  a  boil,  an  evidence  of  bad  blood 
in  the  body  j>olitic.      Let  it  out  and  he  will  subside. 

."^ons  of  the  Revolution  kindh'  their  imlii^nation  by  con- 
templating tlie  arrogance  of  the  Tea-Tax  ami  the  Stamp-Act 
which  tyranny  attempted  to  impose  on  freemen.  1  will  tell 
vou  of  two  more  arrogant  inicpiities  nearer  home.  'Ihe 
people  of  the  largest  State  in  the  Union  not  long  ago  made 
a  law  that  their  civil  service  should  be  taken  out  of  the 
domain  of  spoils  and  controlled  by  merit  and  efliciency.  A 
committee  appointed  last  year  to  investigate  the  working  of 
the  law,  reported  that  it  had  been  systematically  disregarded, 
evaded,  and  violated,  by  the  very  Governor  elected  and 
commissioners  appointed  to  carry  it  into  execution,  so  that 
the  number  of  olTices  distributed  as  spoils  had  steadily 
increased,  and  the  proportion  of  appointments  for  ascertained 
merits  and  fitness  had  decreased  twenty-five  per  cent  in  a 
year  and  a  half.  That  is  the  first  instance.  And  the  second 
is  like  unto  it.  The  people  of  the  largest  city  in  the  Union, 
regardless  of  party,  joined  hands  last  fall  in  a  successful 
effort  to  drive  out  a  corrupt  and  oppressive  organization 
which  had  long  fattened  on  the  spoils  of  municipal  ofilice. 
They  elected  a  chief  magistrate  pledged  to  administer  the 
affairs  of  the  city  on  a  business  basis,  with  a  single  eye  to 
the  welfare  of  the  city,  and  without  regard  to  partisan  influ- 
ence. To  this  chief  magistrate  now  appears  a  man  from  the 
rural  districts,  like  Banquo's  ghost,  but  without  a  crown  and 
with  plenty  of  "  speculation  in  his  eyes,"  demanding  that 
his  counsel  shall  be  taken,  and  his  followers  rewarded,  and 
his  faction  "  placated,"  in  the  distribution  of  the  offices  of 
this  great  city  of  which  he  is  not  even  a  citizen.  I  say  that 
is  as  impudent  an  iniquity  as  George  III.  and  his  ministers 
ever  proposed  towards  their  colonies. 


NBIV  AMERICANISM  55 

But  who  is  responsible  for  it  ?  I  will  tell  you.  The  cor- 
porations from  whom  the  Boss  gets  his  gains  in  payment  for 
his  protection.  The  office-seekers,  high  or  low,  who  go  to 
the  Boss  for  a  place  for  them.selves  or  for  others.  And  the 
citizens  who,  by  voting  or  not  voting,  have  year  after  year 
filled  our  legislative  chambers  with  men  who  were  willing  to 
do  the  Bosses'  bidding,  for  a  consideration. 

It  should  be  the  desire  and  object  of  every  patriotic 
American  to  remove  these  places  as  rapidly  and  as  com- 
pletely as  possible  from  all  chance  of  occupation  or  use  by 
the  Spoils  System.  Burn  the  nests,  and  the  rats  will  evac- 
uate. Clean  the  sewers,  and  the  malaria  will  abate.  Let  it 
be  understood  that  our  chief  elective  officers  are  no  longer 
to  be  sent  into  the  fields  to  feed  place-hunters,  and  it  will 
no  longer  be  difficult  to  get  the  most  conscientious  men  to 
serve.  Let  the  people  once  thoroughly  repudiate  and  disown 
the  "  Spoils  System,"  and  then  the  spoilsman  and  the  boss, 
the  ring  and  the  hall, 

"  Shall  fold  their  tents  like  the  Arabs 
And  as  silently  steal  away." 

NEW   AMERICANISM 

By  Henry  Watterson,  Journalist,  Author;  Member  of  Congress  from 
Kentucky,  1876-77;  Editor  of  Louisville  Courier- yoitrna/,  1S68 — . 
Born  in  Washington,  D.  C,  1840. 

From  an  address  at  the  annual  meeting  of  the  New  England  Society  in   New  York 
City,  December  22,  1894.     See  New  York  Tril'une,  Dec.  23,  1894. 

Eight  years  ago,  to-night,  there  stood  where  I  am 
standing  now  a  young  Georgian,  who,  not  without  reason, 
recognized  the  "significance"  of  his  presence  here  and, 
in  words  whose  eloquence  I  cannot  hope  to  recall,  ap- 
pealed from  the  New  South  to  New  England  for  a  united 
country. 

He  is  gone  now.  But,  short  as  his  life  was,  its  heaven- 
born  mission  was  fulfilled;  the  dream  of  his  childhood 
was  realized;  for  he  had  been  appointed  by  God  to  carry  a 


56  f n:\RY  n.iJTi^KsON 

nic.s>agc  ot  peace  on  <.arili,  good  will  to  men,  ami,  this  done, 
he  vanished  from  the  sight  of  mortal  eyes,  even  as  the  dove 
from  the  ark. 

(irady  told  us,  and  told  us  truly,  of  that  typical  American 
who.  in  l>r.  'I'aimagc's  mind's  eye,  was  coming,  hut  who, 
in  Abraliam  Lincoln's  actuality,  had  already  come.  In  .some 
recent  studies  into  the  career  o[  that  man,  I  have  encoun- 
tered many  startling  contirmalions  of  this  judgment;  and 
from  that  ruggcil  trunk,  drawing  its  sustenance  from  gnarled 
roots,  interlockeil  with  Cavalier  sprays  and  Puritan  branches 
deep  beneath  the  soil,  >hall  spring,  is  springing,  a  shapely 
tree — svmmetric  in  all  its  jjarts — under  whose  sheltering 
boughs  this  nation  shall  have  the  new  birth  of  freedom 
Lincoln  promised  it,  and  mankind  the  refuge  which  was 
sought  by  the  forefathers  when  they  fled  from  oppression. 
Thank  God,  the  axe,  the  gibbet,  and  the  stake  have  had 
their  day.  They  have  gone,  let  us  hope,  to  keep  company 
with  the  lost  arts.  It  has  been  demonstrated  that  great 
wrongs  may  be  redresseil  and  great  reforms  be  achieved 
without  the  shedding  of  one  drop  of  human  blood ;  that 
vengeance  does  not  purify,  but  brutalizes;  and  that  toler- 
ance, which  in  private  transactions  is  reckoned  a  virtue, 
becomes  in  public  affairs  a  dogma  of  the  most  far-seeing 
statesmanship. 

So  I  appeal  from  the  men  in  silken  hose  who  danced  to 
music  made  by  slaves — and  called  it  freedom — from  the  men 
in  bell-crowned  hats,  who  led  Hester  Prynne  to  her  shame — 
and  called  it  religion — to  that  Americanism  which  reaches 
forth  its  arms  to  smite  wrong  with  reason  and  truth,  secure 
in  the  power  of  both.  I  appeal  from  the  patriarchs  of  New 
England  to  the  poets  of  New  England;  from  Endicott  to 
Lowell;  from  Winthrop  to  Longfellow;  from  Norton  to 
Holmes;  and  I  appeal  in  the  name  and  by  the  rights  of  that 
common  citizenship — of  that  common  origin — back  both  of 
the  Puritan  and  the  Cavalier — to  which  all  of  us  owe  our 
being.      Let  the  dead  past,  consecrated  by  the  blood  of  its 


THI:    MAN   lyiTHOUT  A    COUNTRY  57 

martyrs,  not  by  its  savage  hatreds — darkened  alike  by  king- 
craft and  priestcraft — let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead.  Let 
the  present  and  the  future  ring  with  the  song  of  the  singers. 
Blessed  be  the  lessons  they  teach,  the  laws  they  make. 
Blessed  be  the  eye  to  see,  the  light  to  reveal.  Blessed  be 
Tolerance,  sitting  ever  on  the  right  hand  of  God  to  guide 
the  way  with  loving  word,  as  blessed  be  all  that  brings  us 
nearer  the  goal  of  true  religion,  true  Republicanism,  anil 
true  patriotism,  distrust  of  watchwords  and  labels,  shams 
and  heroes,  belief  in  our  country  and  ourselves.  It  was  not 
Cotton  Mather,  but  John  Greenleaf  Whittier,  who  cried : 

"  Dear  God  and  FaUier  of  us  all, 
Forgive  our  faith  in  cruel  lies. 
Forgive  the  blindness  that  denies. 

Cast  down  our  idols — overturn 
Our  l)loody  altars — make  us  see 
Thyself  in  Thy  humanity  !  " 


THE    MAN    WITHOUT    A   COUNTRY 

By    Edward    Everett    Hale,    Clergyman,    Author,    Poet.       Born    in 
Boston,  Mass.,   1822. 

From  "  Tlie  Man  Without  a  Country,"  published  by  Roberts  Brothers,  Boston.  By 
permission  of  the  author. 

[Philip  Nolan,  "the  man  without  a  country,"  was  at  one  time  an 
ambitious  yoiuig  officer  in  the  United  States  Army.  But  because  of 
intimacy  with  Aaron  Burr,  he  was  banished  from  his  country  and  com- 
pelled to  live  upon  a  government  vessel,  where  he  was  never  allowed 
even  to  hear  the  name  of  his  country.] 

]\Iy  own  acquaintance  with  Philip  Nolan  began  six  or 
eight  years  after  the  War,  on  my  first  voyage  after  I  was 
appointed  a  midshipman.  We  had  him  to  dine  in  our  mess 
once  a  week,  and  the  caution  was  given  that  on  that  day 
nothing  was  to  be  said  about  home. 

I  first  came  to  understand  anything  about  "the  man 
without  a  country"  one  day  when  we  overhauled  a  dirty 
little  schooner  which  had  slaves  on  board.     An  officer  was 


58  EOn.-tRn   lil'liKlil  I    H.tl.l: 

sent  to  take  (.harge  oi  her,  ativl.  after  a  few  minutes,  he  sent 
back  his  boat  to  ask  tliat  some  one  might  be  sent  liiin  who 
eouKl  talk  Portuguese.  Ihit  none  of  the  officers  chtl ;  antl 
just  as  the  captain  was  semUng  forward  to  ask  if  any  of  tlie 
people  could,  Nolan  stejipeil  t)Ut  and  said  he  should  be  glad 
to  interpret,  if  the  captain  wished,  as  he  understood  the 
language.  The  captain  tlianked  him,  fittetl  out  another  boat 
with  him,  and  in  this  boat  it  was  my  luck  to  go. 

There  were  not  a  great  many  of  the  negroes;  most  of  them 
were  out  of  the  hold  and  swarming  all  round  the  dirty  deck, 
with  a  central  throng  surrounding  Vaughan.  "Tell  them 
they  are  free,  Nolan,"  said  Vaughan;  "and  tell  them  that 
I  will  take  them  all  to  Cape  Palmas. " 

Cape  Palmas  was  practically  as  far  from  the  homes, of 
most  of  them  as  New  Orleans  or  Rio  Janeiro  was;  that  is, 
they  would  be  eternally  separated  from  home  there.  And 
their  interpreters,  as  we  could  understand,  instantly  said, 
"Ah.  non  Palmas."  The  drops  stood  on  poor  Nolan's 
white  forehead,  as  he  hushed  the  men  down,  and  said:  "  He 
says,  '  Not  Palmas. '  He  says,  '  Take  us  home,  take  us  to 
our  own  country,  take  us  to  our  own  house,  take  us  to  our , 
own  pickaninnies  and  our  own  women. '  He  says  he  has  an 
old  father  and  mother  who  will  die  if  they  do  not  see  him. 
And  this  one  says, "  choked  out  Nolan,  "that  he  has  not 
heard  a  word  from  his  home  in  six  months. 

Even  the  negroes  stopped  howling,  as  they  saw  Nolan's 
agony,  and  Vaughan 's  almost  equal  agony  of  sympathy. 
As  quick  as  he  could  get  words,  Vaughan  said : 

"  Tell  them,  yes,  yes,  yes;  tell  them  they  shall  go  to  the 
mountains  of  the  I^Ioon,  if  they  will." 

And  after  some  fashion  Nolan  said  so.  And  they  all  fell 
to  kissing  him  again. 

But  he  could  not  stand  it  long;  and  getting  Vaughan  to 
say  he  might  go  back,  he  beckoned  me  down  into  the  boat. 
As  we  lay  back  in  the  stern-sheets  and  the  men  gave  way, 
he  said  to  me:  "  Youngster,  let  that  show  you  what  it  is  to 


OXFORD   COUNTY  59 

be  without  a  family,  without  a  home,  and  witliout  a  country. 
And  if  you  are  ever  tempted  to  say  a  word  or  to  do  a  thing 
that  shall  put  a  bar  between  you  and  your  family,  your 
home,  and  your  country,  pray  God  in  his  mercy  to  take  you 
that  instant  home  to  his  own  heaven.  Stick  by  your  family, 
boy;  forget  you  have  a  self,  while  you  do  everything  for 
tliem.  Think  of  your  home,  boy;  write  and  send,  and  talk 
al)out  it.  Let  it  be  nearer  and  nearer  to  your  thought,  the 
farther  you  have  to  travel  from  it;  and  rush  back  to  it  when 
you  are  free,  as  that  poor  black  slave  is  doing  now.  And 
for  your  country,  boy,"  and  the  words  rattled  in  his  throat, 
"and  for  that  flag,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  ship,  "never 
dream  a  dream  but  of  serving  her  as  she  bids  you,  though 
the  service  carry  you  through  a  thousand  terrors.  No  matter 
what  happens  to  you,  no  matter  who  flatters  3'ou  or  who 
abuses  you,  never  look  at  another  flag,  never  let  a  night  pass 
but  you  pray  God  to  bless  that  flag.  Remember,  boy,  that 
behind  all  these  men  you  have  to  do  with, — behind  officers, 
and  government,  and  people  even, — there  is  the  Country 
Herself,  your  Country,  and  that  you  belong  to  Her  as  you 
belong  to  your  own  mother;  and  stand  by  Her,  boy,  as  you 
would  stand  by  your  mother. 


OXFORD   COUNTY 

By  John  Davis  Long,  Lawj-er,  Autlior;  Governor  of  Massachusetts, 
1882-88;  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  1897—.  Born  in  Buckfield,  Oxford 
County,  Maine,  1838. 

Reprinted,  by  permission  of  the  publishers,  from  a  speech  on  Oxford  County  in 
"  After  Dinner  and  Other  Speeches,"  published  by  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston, 
copyright,  1895,  by  John  D.  Long. 

Oxford  County  to  me,  sir,  is  a  volume  of  poems,  a  para- 
dise of  nature.  Her  crests  of  blue  against  the  summer  sky, 
and  in  winter  white  with  glistening  snow,  her  pure  waters, 
her  cool  woods,  her  picturesque  roads  winding  over  hill  and 
down  dale,  her  exquisite  intermingling  of  forest  and  farm. 


''-  JOHS'  n.^yis  i.o.wc 

arc  siuli  ;\  natural  park  nf  lovc-liiu'ss  ami  magnificence  as  no 
metropolitan  wealth  or  art  can  ivtr  imitate. 

Kor  one,  I  owe  it  a  deeper  ticln.  I'.nlarging  and  educat- 
ing as  were  its  physical  influences,  I  pay  my  tribute  still 
more  gratefully  to  the  living  influences  of  its  people.  In 
American  life  and  struggle,  I  belicvO  there  is  no  such  educa- 
tion as  that  of  a  country  boy's  contact  in  school  and  at  all 
times  with  the  social  democracy  of  a  country  such  as  Oxford 
County  typifles, — abs<tlutely  meeting  the  ideal  of  a  free  and 
equal  people,  and  ignorant  of  such  a  tiling  as  caste  or  class- 
Yes,  my  friends,  I  believe  we  are  here  to  utter  our  grati- 
tude to  the  men  and  women  who  gave  a  popular  tone  to 
Oxford  County  worthy  of  her  hills  and  the  grandeur  and 
strength  of  her  physical  magnificence.  My  gratitude  is  from 
a  full  heart.  I  recognize  with  profound  emotion  the  resolute, 
generous,  and  fruitful  purpose  and  force  which  our  fathers 
put  into  their  farms  and  watercourses  and  trading-posts.  1 
look  back  and  behold  worth  and  highmindedness  driving  the 
oxen  afield,  cutting  the  wood,  tending  the  sawmill,  leading 
the  training  field  and  the  election,  doing  neighborly  turns 
and  kindnesses,  bartering  the  worsted  mitten  over  the 
counter,  and  making  the  wholesomest  texture  of  a  pastoral, 
provincial  life  the  world  has  ever  seen  or  ever  will  see, — the 
ideal  combination  of  industry,  equality,  freedom,  intelli- 
gence, and  high  character.  It  was  the  best  blood  of  Massa- 
chusetts— pure  English  stock,  little  changed  even  to  this 
day,  the  best  families  of  Pilgrim  and  Puritan  descent — which 
after  the  Revolutionary  War  made  their  way  to  Oxford 
County.  But  like  all  pioneers,  they  had  little  of  this  world's 
goods,  and  brought  little  except  their  splendid  inheritance 
of  worth  and  character,  their  brave  hearts  and  honest,  hard- 
working hands. 

This  was  the  sort  of  men  who  were  most  distinctive  of 
Oxford  County,  and  who  gave  it  character.  What  splendid 
stock  it  was!  What  sturdy  English  names, — those  Mitchells, 
Lincolns,    Holmeses,    Lorings,    Emer}-s,    Parsons,    Taylors, 


OXFORD   COUNTY  6 1 

Cushings,  Halls,  Bicknells,  Perrys,  Washburns,  llamlins, 
Aldens,  Whitmans,  Mortons,  and  hundreds  more!  Hardly 
a  family,  however  hard  its  fight  with  adverse  circumstances, 
that  has  not  been  a  contributor  to  the  enterprise,  the  scholar- 
ship, the  statesmanship,  the  patriotism,  that  have  made  our 
country  great. 

In  every  avenue  of  its  usefulness  you  find  their  trace. 
You  hear  their  eloquence  in  every  court  and  congress.  You 
saw  the  flash  of  their  swords  in  every  battle  for  freedom. 
Well  may  we  recall  the  men  of  Oxford  with  pride  and  grati- 
tude. No  narrow  scope  was  theirs.  They  nursed  the 
schools.  They  valued  and  exempli fietl  and  maintained  the 
education  of  the  people.  They  contended  for  good  politics. 
They  discussed  fundamental  issues.  Could  you  awake  the 
voices  of  the  past  you  would  hear  them  also  treat  of  reform, 
of  tariff  and  revenue,  and  of  the  relations  of  the  general 
government  to  its  local  components,  with  all  the  vigor  and 
enlightenment  which  we  sometimes  think  to  be  the  exclusive 
attainment  of  our  own  time. 

I  thank  you,  sir,  for  permitting  me  to  join  with  }'ou  in 
your  tribute  to  Oxford.  The  occasion  touches  me  very 
tenderly,  for  it  carries  my  heart  and  betrays  my  utterance 
Into  sacred  memories  of  my  own  boyhood  and  home.  They 
come  freshly  back  to  me,  as  yours  to  you,  and  I  stand  again 
at  the  threshold  of  an  opening  w^orld,  with  the  sunrise  on 
my  face.  Again  I  sit  at  the  blessed  family  fireplace  as  of 
old,  unthinking  then  of  the  love  and  fervent  devotion  to  my 
welfare  and  advancement  to  which  I  owe  everything,  and 
which  to  me  now,  looking  back,  is  all  so  clear.  I  knew  not 
then  that  angels'  wings  brushed  my  cheeks.  Now  I  strain 
my  eyes  to  heaven  to  catch  their  flight. 


0^  Hi:\K)     liAnSHOR'IH   J.ONG//:i.J.Oir 

FROM   "EVANGELINE  " 

Hv  IIknkv  WaDswokhi   1,oN(;iki,i.ii\v,  I'rolisSDr,  INkI.      limu  in  I'ort- 
l.iiul,  M;iiiic,  1S07;  (lied  in  C'amlirid^^i-,  M;l!^^.,  iSSj. 

Hy   pcrniiiui.oii   uf  tlic   publislieis  iif   I.uiigfcllnw'b  i'ucniK.  lluii^litoii,  MiDliii  \:  Cu., 
Ito&ton. 

Indtr  the  open  j^ky,  in  the  ()iU)rous  air  of  the  oicliard, 
Stript  <.)f  its  golilen  fruit,  Mas  spread  the  feast  of  betrothal. 
There   in   the   shade  of   tlie   porcli   were   the   i)riest   aiul    the 

notary  seated ; 
'riiere  jjood  Benedict  sat,  and  >turtl\'  ]5asd  the  l)hieksmith. 
Nut    far   withilraw  11    iroin    the>c  1)\-   tlie    eider-])ress   and    the 

beehives, 
Michael  the  fiddler  was  j)hiced,  with  the  gayest  of  hearts  and 

of  waistcoats. 
Shadow  and   light  from  the  leaves  alternately  played  on  his 

snow-white 
Hair,   as  it   waved  in    the   Avind ;   and   the  jolly  face  of  the 

fiddler 
Glowed  like  a  living  coal  when  the  ashes  are  blown  from  the 

embers. 
Gayly  the  old  man  sang  to  the  vibrant  sound  of  his  fiddle, 
7'ous  les  Bourgeois  de  Chalics,  and  Le  Carillon  dc  Duiikeri/ue, 
And  anon  with  his  wooden  shoes  beat  time  to  the  music. 
ISIerrily,  merrily  whirled  the  wheels  of  the  dizzying  dances 
Under  the  orchard-trees  and  down  the  path  to  the  meadows; 
Old  folk  and  young  together,  and  children  mingled  among 

them. 
Fairest  of  all  the  maids  was  Evangeline,  Benedict's  daughter! 
Noblest  of  all  the  youths  was  Gabriel,  son  of  the  Blacksmith ! 

So    passed    the    morning    away.      And    lol    with    summons 

sonorous 
Sounded  the  bell  from  its  tower,  and  over  the  meadows  a 

drum  beat. 
Thronged  ere  long  was  the  cfmrch  with  men.      Without  in 

the  churchvard 


FROM   "  ByANClU.INB''  63 

Waited   the  women.      They  stood  by  the  graves,   and  hung 

on  the  headstones 
Garlands  of  autumn-leaves  and    evergreens   fresh    from  the 

forest. 
Then  came  the  guard  from  the  ships,  and  marching  proudly 

among  them 
Entered  the  sacred  portal.     With  loud  and  dissonant  clangor 
Fxhoed  the  sound  of  their  brazen  drums  from  ceiling  and 

casement, — 
Echoed  a  moment  only,  and  slowly  the  ponderous  portal 
Closed,    and  in  silence  the  crowd  awaited   the  will    of  the 

soldiers. 
Then  uprose  their  commander,  and  spake  from  the  steps  of 

the  altar. 
Holding  aloft  in  his  hands,  with  its  seals,  the  royal  commis- 
sion. 
"You  are  convened  this  day, "  he  said,  "  by  his  IMajesty's 

orders. 
Clement  and  kind  he  has  been;  but  how  you  have  answered 

his  kindness. 
Let  your  own  hearts  reply!     To  my  natural   make  and  my 

temper 
Painful    the  task   is   I   do,    which   to  you   I   know  must    be 

grievous. 
Yet    must    I    bow   and   obey,    and   deliver   the   will   of  our 

monarch ; 
Namely,  that  all  your  lands,  and  dwellings,  and  cattle  of  all 

kinds 
Forfeited  be  to  the  crown;  and  that  you  yourselves  from  this 

province 
13e  transported  to  other  lands.      God  grant  you  may  dwell 

there 
Ever  as  faithful  subjects,  a  happy  and  peaceable  people! 
Prisoners    now  I   declare    you;    for    such    is    his    Majesty's 

pleasure!  " 
As,  when  the  air  is  serene  in  the  sultry  solstice  of  summer. 


^'4  hi:kky  n  .-msiroKT/i  lAiw./i-i./oif 

Smlilcnly  gailic-rs  ;i  storm,  .iiul  tin'  lU-ailly  sliii^  of  tin.'  hail- 
stones 

Moats  down  tlu-  i.irnicr's  corn  in  tlic  fu'Id  and  shatters  liis 
windows. 

Hiding  the  sun,  and  strcwinj?  the  ground  with  tliatcli  from 
tlie  house-roofs, 

HclK>wing  lly  the  herds,  and  seek  to  break  their  enelosures; 

So  on  the  hearts  of  the  j)eoj)le  descended  the  words  of  the 
speaker. 

Silent  they  stood  a  moment  in  speechless  wonder,  and  then 
rose 

Louder  and  ever  louder  a  wail  of  sorrow  and  anger. 

And,  by  one  impulse  moved,  they  madly  ruslucl  to  the 
iloorway. 

\'ain  was  the  hope  of  escape;  and  cries  and  fierce  impreca- 
tions 

Rang  through  the  house  of  prayer;  and  high  o'er  the  heads 
of  the  others 

Rose,  with  his  arms  uplifted,  the  figure  of  liasil  the  black- 
smith, 

As,  on  a  stormy  sea,  a  spar  is  tossed  by  the  billows. 

Flushed  was  his  face  and  distorted  with  passion;  and  wiUlly 
he  shouted, — 

'■  Down  with  these  tyrants  of  England!  we  never  have  sworn 
them  allegiance! 

Death  to  these  foreign  soldiers,  who  seize  on  our  homes  and 
our  harvests !  ' ' 

More  he  fain  would  have  said,  but  the  merciless  hand  of  a 
soldier 

Smote  him  upon  the  mouth,  and  dragged  him  down  to  the 
pavement. 

In  the  midst  of  the  strife  and  tumult  of  angry  contention, 
Lo!  the  door  of  the  chancel  opened,  and  Father  Felician 
Entered,  with  serious  mien,  and  ascended  the  steps  of  the 
altar. 


FROM  '■  EyANGEUNE''  65 

Raising    his  reverend    hand,    with   a    gesture  he   awed   into 

silence 
All  tliat  clamorous  throng;  and  thus  he  spake  to  his  people; 
Deep  were  his  tones  and  solemn ;   in  accents  measured  and 

mournful 
Spake  he,  as,  after  the  tocsin's  alarum,  distinctly  the  clock 

strikes. 
"  What  is  this  ye  do,  my  children  ?  what  madness  has  seized 

you  ? 
Forty  years  of  my  life  have  I  labored  among  you,  and  taught 

you. 
Not  in  word  alone,  but  in  deed,  to  love  one  another! 
Is  this  the  fruit  of  my  toils,  of  my  vigils  and  prayers  and 

privations  ? 
Have  you  so  soon  forgotten  all  lessons  of  love  and  forgive- 
ness ? 
This  is  the  house  of  the  Prince  of  Peace,    and  would  you 

profane  it 
Thus  with  violent  deeds  and  hearts  overflowing  with  hatred  ? 
Lo!   where  the  crucified  Christ  from  his  cross  is  gazing  upon 

you! 
See!   in  those  sorrowful   eyes  what  meekness  and  holy  com- 
passion ! 
Hark!   how  those  lips   still   repeat  the  prayer,    'O   Father, 

forgive  them !  ' 
Let  us  repeat  that  prayer  in  the  hour  when  the  wicked  assail 

us, 
Let  us  repeat  it  now,  and  say,  '  O  Father,  forgive  them! 
Few  were  his  words  of  rebuke,  but  deep  in  the  hearts  of  the 

people 
Sank  they,  and  sobs  of  contrition   succeeded  the  passionate 

outbreak. 
While  they  repeated  his  prayer,  and  said,  "  O  Father,  forgive 

them !  ' ' 


06  /c)//,V   Mr.l.li:N    THiRSTON 


THE    A\ONROE    DOCTKINH 

Hy  John  Min  in  'I'm  Ksms,  L.twyrr;   Senator  fmiii  N>  hr.i^k.i,  iS(j5— . 
Hi)rii  ;il  Monlpclicr,  Vl.,  1S47. 

I  roni  a  ^pcccl^  delivered  in  the  United  Statex  Senate,  January  28,  iSyf);  (lie  Senate 
li.ivin);  under  consideration  a  concurrent  resolution  relative  to  the  assertion  and  eiiforie- 
nicnt  of  the  Monroe  doctrine.     See  Congressional  Necorii,  Jan.  28,  i8>/'j. 

Mr.  rrcsidcnt.  it  is  gravely  argued  tliat  our  country  has 
outgrown  the  necessity  for  any  further  enforcement  of  the 
Monroe  doctrine.  It  is  urged  that  the  I'nited  States  has 
waxed  strong  and  powerful ;  that  we  no  longer  need  fear  any 
foreign  interference  in  our  affairs:  that  all  our  boundary  lines 
have  been  definitely  settled;  and  that  we  cannot  lie  affected 
cr  disturbed  by  .South  American  controversies.  It  is,  there- 
fore, insisted  that  we  can  now  afford  to  let  the  other  Ameri- 
can Republics  look  out  for  themselves,  and  that  we  should 
stand  supinely  by  while  foreign  powers  overawj  and  outrage 
our  weak  and  defenseless  neighbors. 

!Mr.  President,  ours  is  the  one  great  nation  of  this  con- 
tinent; INIother  of  Republics,  her  lullaby  has  been  sung  over 
every  cradle  of  liberty  in  the  New  World.  Under  the 
inspiration  of  her  glorious  example,  the  last  throne  has  dis- 
appeared from  the  Western  Hemisphere  and  the  Old  World's 
dominion  over  American  territory  and  American  affairs  will 
not  outlast  the  morning  of  the  twentieth  century.    .    .    . 

I  am  not  unmindful  of  the  seriousness  and  gravity  of  the 
present  situation..  We  are  calling  a  halt  upon  that  settled 
policy  of  aggression  and  dominion  which  has  characterized 
the  extension  of  the  British  Empire  from  the  hour  in  which 
her  first  adventurous  prow  turned  to  unknown  seas.  The 
history  of  the  English  people  is  an  almost  unbroken  series 
of  military  achievements.  Great  Britain  has  cleared  lier 
pathway  into  every  corner  of  the  earth  with  the  naked  sword; 
she  has  acquired  and  held  her  vast  possessions  by  force  of 
arms;  slie  has  mastered  and  subjugated  the  jieople  of  every 
zone;  her  navies  are  upon    every  sea,    her  armies  in    every 


THE   MONROE   DOCTRINE  67 

clime.  She  has  not  a  son  who  did  not  suckle  inherited  valor 
from  his  mother's  breast.  No  nation  can  afford  lightly  to 
challenge  her  purposes  or  arouse  her  stubborn  pride.  But 
docs  this  furnish  any  reason  why  Americans  should  abandon 
any  settled  policy  of  the  United  States,  or  retire  from  any 
position  which  the  honor  of  this  Republic  and  the  welfare  of 
America  require  that  we  should  assume  .' 

Mr.  President,  our  people  have  been  represented  as  eager 
for  war,  and  the  Senator  from  Colorado  seems  to  believe  that 
it  is  necessary  to  cool  their  j^rdor  by  disparagement  of  the 
Monroe  doctrine  and  eulogium  of  British  grandeur.  Ours 
is  a  mighty  nation,  but  its  people  are  slow  to  wrath.  They 
believe  in  the  divine  doctrine  taught  by  the  lowly  Nazarene 
on  the  shores  of  Galilee.  The  fear  of  God,  the  love  of  peace 
is  in  their  hearts  and  in  their  homes.  Nothing  that  can  be 
said,  nothing  that  can  be  done,  will  move  or  incite  them  to 
any  act  of  injustice  or  to  any  premature  preparations  for  war. 
But  there  is  no  other  land  in  which  the  honor  of  the  nation 
is  so  dear;  there  is  no  other  land  in  which  the  love  of 
country,  of  liberty,  and  of  justice  is  so  strong;  there  is  no 
other  land  whose  citizens  would  sacrifice  so  much  to  main- 
tain its  institutions  or  defend  its  soil.    .    .    . 

Mr.  President,  I  share  with  the  Senator  from  Colorado  in 
the  heritage  of  English  blood.  I  glory  with  him  in  the 
mighty  achievements  of  the  English-speaking  race;  but  I 
have  not  forgotten  that  England,  as  a  nation,  compelled  my 
ancestors  in  1637  to  cross  the  stormy  ocean  and  take  up 
habitation  upon  the  rocky  and  inhospitable  shores  of  the 
New  England  wilderness,  in  order  that  they  might  enjoy 
freedom  of  conscience  and  the  worship  of  God  according  to 
their  own  beliefs.  I  have  not  forgotten  that  the  persecution 
of  Great  Britain  followed  them  across  the  sea;  I  have  not 
forgotten  that  she  heaped  indignities  and  injustice  upon  the 
colonists  until  they  could  no  longer  be  borne;  I  have  not 
forgotten  that  my  grandsires  carried  muskets,  and  gave  their 
American    blood,    that     British    dominion    over   American 


68  JOHN   Ml-.l.l.llN    THURSTON 

colonics  shouKl  l)c  fonvi  i-  at  an  end.  I  have  nut  forgottL-n 
tliat  our  sailors  and  niarini-s  were  forcrd  to  iliivc  England's 
navy  from  the  main  to  make  the  tleck  of  an  American  shi]i 
American  soil.   .    .    . 

Standing  upon  the  floor  of  the  American  Senate  and 
knowing  whereof  I  speak,  I  say  to  the  people  of  (ireat 
IJritain  that  the  grave  issues  wliieli  have  been  settled  by  brave 
men  upon  American  battleliekis  can  never  be  reopeneci. 
Sir,  there  is  no  division  of  sentiment  in  the  L'nited  States. 
Let  but  a  single  drumbeat  be  heard  ui)on  our  coast, 
announcing  the  approach  of  a  foreign  foe,  and  there  will 
spring  to  arms  in  Nortli  and  South  the  grandest  army  the 
world  has  ever  known,  animated  by  a  deathless  loyalty  to 
their  country's  flag  and  marching  on  to  the  mingled  and 
inspiring  strains  of  our  two  national  airs,  Dixie  and  Yankee 
Doodle. 

Mr,  President,  the  press  of  Great  Britain  has  already 
seized  upon  the  utterances  of  the  Senator  from  Colorado  as 
an  indication  that  the  people  of  this  country  are  ready  to 
abandon  whatever  place  we  now  hold  of  duty  and  res]jf)r.si- 
bility  toward  the  republics  and  the  affairs  of  the  New  World. 
But  when  the  pending  resolution  comes  on  for  final  passage, 
I  predict  that  it  will  be  adopted  by  such  a  decisive  vote  as 
will  advise  all  Christendom  of  the  stand  wliich  the  people  of 
this  country  are  prepared  to  make  for  the  maintenance  and 
enforcement  of  the  Monroe  doctrine. 

Sir,  believing  that  the  honor  of  my  country  is  involved, 
that  the  hour  calls  for  the  highest  expression  of  loyalty  and 
patriotism,  calmly  confident  of  the  verdict  of  posterity, 
reverently  calling  God  to  witness  the  sincerity  of  my  purpose, 
I  shall  vote  for  the  resolution  reported  by  the  Committee  on 
Foreign  Affairs.  I  shall  vote  for  it  not  as  an  affront  to  any 
other  nation,  but  to  uphold  the  dignity  of  my  own.  1  shall 
vote  for  it  in  this  time  of  profound  tranquillity,  convinced 
that  peace  with  honor  can  be  preserved.  But,  sir,  1  would 
vote  for  it  just  as  surely  were  we  already  standing  in  the 


THE  DEATH  PENALTY  69 

awful  shadow  of  declared  war.  f  would  vtjte  for  it  were  the 
navies  of  all  Europe  thundering  at  our  harbors.  I  would 
vote  for  it  were  the  shells  of  British  battle-ships  bursting 
above  the  dome  of  the  nation's  Capitol.  I  would  vote  for  it 
and  would  maintain  it  at  all  hazards  and  at  any  cost,  with 
the  last  dollar,  with  the  last  man;  yea,  though  it  might 
{)resage  the  coming  of  a  mighty  conflict  whose  conclusion 
should  leave  me  without  a  son,  as  the  last  great  contest  left 
me  without  a  sire. 

THE    DEATH    PENALTY 

By  Victor  Marie  Hugo,   Poet,   Author.     Bom  at  Besangon,  France, 
1802;  died  at  Paris,  1885. 

Gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  if  there  is  a  culprit  here,  it  is 
not  my  son, — it  is  myself, — it  is  I! — I,  who  for  these 
twenty-five  years  have  opposed  capital  punishment,  —  have 
contended  for  the  inviolability  of  human  life, — have  com- 
mitted this  crime  for  which  my  son  is  now  arraigned.  Here 
I  denounce  myself,  Mr,  Advocate  General!  I  have  com- 
mitted it  under  all  aggravated  circumstances;  deliberately, 
repeatedly,  tenaciously.  Yes,  this  old  and  absurd  lex 
ialionis — this  law  of  blood  for  blood — I  have  combated  all 
my  life — all  my  life.  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury!  And,  while  I 
have  breath,  I  will  continue  to  combat  it,  by  all  my  efforts 
as  a  writer,  by  all  my  words  and  all  my  votes  as  a  legislator! 
I  declare  it  before  the  crucifix;  before  that  victim  of  the 
penalty  of  death,  who  sees  and  hears  us;  before  that  gibbet, 
to  which,  two  thousand  years  ago,  for  the  eternal  instruction 
of  the  generations,  the  human  law  nailed  the  Divine! 

In  all  that  my  son  has  written  on  the  subject  of  capital 
punishment  and  for  writing  and  publishing  which  he  is  now 
on  trial, — in  all  that  he  has  written,  he  has  merely  pro- 
claimed the  sentiments  with  which,  from  his  infancy,  I  have 
inspired  him.  Gentlemen  Jurors,  the  right  to  criticise  a 
law,  and  to  criticise  it  severely — especially  a  penal  law — is 


7©  in:  I  OR  M.-iKi/:  nrco 

placed  bcsiilc  tlio  duty  «>t  anu'lioration,  like  tlic  lurch  l)C'siilc 
the  work  under  the  artisan's  hand.  The  rij^ht  of  the  jour- 
nalist is  as  sacreil,  as  necessary,  as  imprescriptible,  as  the 
right  of  tlie  legishitor. 

What  are  tlie  tircumstanets  ?  A  man,  a  convict,  a  sen- 
tenced wretch,  is  drai^geii,  on  a  cirtain  mornini^,  to  one  of 
our  public  squares.  There  he  finds  the  scalfojd!  lie 
^hudders,  he  struggles,  he  refuses  to  die.  lie  is  youni;  yet 
— only  twenty-nine.  Ah  I  I  know  wliat  you  will  say, — "  He 
is  a  murderer!  "  But  hear  nie.  Two  olUccrs  seize  him. 
His  hands,  his  feet,  are  tied.  He  throws  off  the  two  ofiicers. 
A  frightful  struggle  ensues.  His  feet,  bound  as  tliey  are, 
become  entangled  in  the  ladder.  He  uses  the  scaffold 
against  the  scaffold!  The  struggle  is  prolonged.  Horror 
seizes  on  the  crowd.  The  oiricers, — sweat  and  shame  on 
their  brows, — pale,  panting,  terrified,  despairing, — despair- 
ing with  I  know  not  what  horrible  despair, — shrinking  under 
that  public  reprobation  which  ought  to  have  visited  the 
penalty,  and  spared  the  passive  instrument,  the  executioner, 
— the  officers  strive  savagely.  The  victim  clings  to  the 
scaffold,  and  shrieks  for  pardon.  His  clothes  are  torn, — his 
shoulders  bloody, — still  he  resists.  At  length,  after  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  of  this  monstrous  effort,  of  this  spectacle 
without  a  name,  of  this  agony, — agony  for  all,  be  it  under- 
stood,— agony  for  the  assembled  spectators  as  well  as  for  the 
condemned  man, — after  this  age  of  anguish,  Gentlemen  of 
the  Jury,  they  take  back  the  poor  wretch  to  his  prison. 

The  People  breathe  again.  The  People,  naturally  merci- 
ful, hope  that  the  man  will  be  spared.  But  no, — the  guillo- 
tine, though  vanquished,  remains  standing.  There  it  frowns 
all  day,  in  the  midst  of  a  sickened  population.  And  at 
night,  the  officers,  reinforced,  drag  forth  the  wretch  again, 
so  bound  that  he  is  but  an  inert  weight, — they  drag  liim 
forth,  haggard,  bloody,  weeping,  jjleading,  howling  for  life, 
— calling  upon  God,  calling  upon  his  father  and  mother, — 
for  like  a  very  child  had  this  man  become  in  the  prospect  of 


AMERICAN  BATTLE-FLAGS  7^ 

death, — they  drag  him  forth  to  execution.  He  is  hoisted 
on  the  scaffold,  and  his  head  falls! — And  then  through  every 
conscience  runs  a  shudder.  Never  had  legal  murder 
appeared  with  an  aspect  so  indecent,  S3  abominable.  All 
feel  jointly  implicated  in  the  deed.  It  is  at  this  very 
moment  that  from  a  young  man's  breast  escapes  a  cry, 
wrung  from  his  very  heart, — a  cry  of  pity  and  of  anguish, — 
a  cry  of  horror, — a  cry  of  humanity.  And  this  cry  you 
would  punish!  And  in  the  face  of  the  appalling  facts  which 
I  have  narrated,  you  would  say  to  the  guillotine,  "  Thou  art 
right!"  and  to  Pity,  saintly  Pity,  "Thou  art  wrong!" 
(ientlemen  of  the  Jury,  it  cannot  be!  Gentlemen,  I  have 
finished. 


AMERICAN    BATTLE-FLAGS 

By  Carl  Schukz,  Statesman,  Journalist,  Lecturer,  Major-General, 
Senator  from  Missouri,  1869-75;  Secretary  of  the  Interior,  1877-81. 
Born  near  Cologne,  Prussia,  1829. 

Reprinted,  by  permission  of  the  publishers,  from  a  "Eulogy  on  Charles  Sumner,"' 
delivered  in  Boston,  Mass.,  April  29,  1874,  published  by  Lee  and  Shepard,  Boston. 

From  Europe  j\Ir.  Sumner  returned  late  in  the  fall  of  1872, 
much  strengthened,  but  far  from  being  well.  At  the  opening 
of  the  session  he  reintroduced  two  measures,  which,  as  he 
thought,  should  complete  the  record  of  his  political  life. 
One  was  his  civil-rights  bill,  which  had  failed  in  the  last 
Congress;  and  the  other,  a  resolution  providing  that  the 
names  of  the  battles  won  over  fellow-citizens  in  the  War  of 
the  Rebellion  should  be  removed  from  the  regimental  colors 
of  the  army,  and  from  the  army  register. 

It  was  in  substance  only  a  repetition  of  a  resolution  which 
he  had  introduced  ten  years  before,  in,  1862,  during  the  war, 
when  the  first  names  of  victories  were  put  on  American 
battle-flags.  This  resolution  called  forth  a  new  storm 
against  him.  It  was  denounced  as  an  insult  to  the  heroic 
soldiers  of  the  Union,  and  a  degradation  of  their  victories 


7-'  CARL   SCHi'RZ 

aiul  wcll-tMriuil  laurels.  It  was  ci)ndemnccl  as  an  un])a(riotic 
act. 

Charles  Sumner  insult  the  soldiers  who  had  s[)illcil  their 
blood  in  a  war  for  human  rights!  Charles  Sumner  degraile 
victories,  and  depreciate  laurels,  won  for  the  cau.se  of  uni- 
versal freedom  I — how  strange  an  imputation! 

Let  the  dead  man  have  a  hearing.  This  was  his  thought: 
No  civilized  nation,  from  the  republics  of  antiquity  down  to 
our  days,  ever  thouglit  it  wise  or  patriotic  to  preserve  in 
conspicuous  and  durable  form  the  mementos  of  victories  won 
over  fellow  citizens  in  civil  war.  \\'hy  not  .'  Because  every 
citizen  should  feel  himself  with  all  others  as  the  child  of  a 
common  country,  and  not  as  a  defeated  foe.  All  civilized 
governments  of  our  days  have  instinctively  followed  the  same 
dictate  of  wisdom  and  patriotism. 

The  Irishman,  when  fighting  for  old  England  at  Waterloo, 
was  not  to  behold  on  the  red  cro.ss  floating  above  him  the 
name  of  the  Boyne.  The  Scotch  Highlander,  when  standing 
in  the  trenches  of  Sebastopol,  was  not  by  the  colors  of  his 
regiment  to  be  reminded  of  CuUoden.  No  French  soldier 
at  Austerlitz  or  Solferino  had  to  read  upon  the  tricolor  any 
reminiscence  of  the  Vendee.  No  Hungarian  at  Sadowa  was 
taunted  by  any  Austrian  banner  with  the  surrender  of  Villagos. 
No  German  regiment  from  Saxony  or  Hanover  charging 
under  the  iron  hail  of  Gravelot  was  made  to  remember,  by 
words  written  on  a  Prussian  standard,  that  the  black  eagle 
had  conquered  them  at  Koniggratz  and  Langensalza. 

Should  the  son  of  South  Carolina,  when  at  some  future 
day  defending  the  Republic  against  some  foreign  foe,  be 
reminded,  by  an  inscription  on  the  colors  floating  over  him, 
that  under  this  flag  the  gun  was  fired  that  killed  his  father  at 
Gettysburg  .'  Should  this  great  and  enlightened  Republic, 
proud  of  standing  in  the  front  of  human  progress,  be  less 
wise,  less  large-hearted,  than  the  ancients  were  two  thousand 
years  ago,  and  the  kingly  governments  of  Europe  are  to-day  ? 

Let  the  battle-flags  of  the  brave  volunteers,   which  they 


THE   BELL-RINGER    OF   'j6  73 

brought  home  from  the  war  with  the  glorious  record  of  their 
victories,  be  preserved  intact  as  a  proud  ornament  of  our 
State  Houses  and  armories,  but  let  the  colors  of  the  army, 
under  which  the  sons  of  all  the  States  are  to  meet  and  mingle 
in  common  patriotism,  speak  of  nothing  but  union, — not  a 
union  of  conquerors  and  conquered,  but  a  union  which  is 
the  mother  of  all,  equally  tender  to  all,  knowing  of  nothing 
but  equality,  peace,  and  love  among  her  children. 

Do  you  want  conspicuous  mementos  of  your  victories  ? 
They  are  written  upon  the  dusky  brow  of  every  freeman  who 
was  once  a  slave;  they  are  written  on  the  gate-posts  of  a 
restored  Union;  and  the  most  glorious  of  all  will  be  written 
on  the  faces  of  a  contented  people,  reunited  in  common 
national  pride. 

THE   BELL-RINGER   OF   '76 

Anonymous. 

Plain  red-brick  walls,  the  windows  partly  framed  in  stone, 
the  hall-door  ornamented  with  pillars, — such  is  the  State 
House  of  Philadelphia  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1776. 

Why  do  those  clusters  of  citizens  with  anxious  faces  gather 
around  the  State-House  walls  .''  There  in  yonder  wooden 
steeple,  which  crowns  the  State  House,  stands  an  old  man 
in  humble  attire,  with  white  hair  and  sunburnt  face.  His 
eye  gleams  as  it  is  fixed  upon  the  ponderous  outline  of  the 
bell  suspended  in  the  steeple  there.  He  tries  to  read  the 
inscription,  but  cannot.  By  his  side,  gazing  at  his  face  in 
wonder,  stands  a  fair-haired  boy,  with  laughing  eyes  of 
summer  blue. 

"Come  here,  my  boy.  You  can  read;  spell  me  these 
words  and  I'll  bless  ye,  my  good  child."  And  the  child 
raised  himself  on  tiptoe,  and  pressing  his  tiny  hands  against 
the  bell  read  these  memorable  words — 

"  Proclaim  Liberty  to  all  the  Land  and  all  the  Inhabitants 
thereof." 


74  ANONYMOUS 

The  old  iiiiin  pomlcrs  (ur  a  luonu'iit  i)n  those  strange 
words,  then  gathering  the  boy  in  his  arms,  speaks — "  Look 
here,  my  child,  wilt  do  the  olil  man  a  kindness  ?  Then 
haste  ye  down  stairs  and  wait  in  the  hall  by  the  big  door, 
until  a  man  shall  give  you  a  message  for  ine.  When  he 
gives  you  the  word,  then  run  out  yonder  in  tlie  street  antl 
shout  it  up  to  me. " 

It  needed  no  second  command.  The  boy  sprang  from 
the  bell-keeper's  arms  and  threaded  his  way  down  the  dark 
stairs.  Leaning  over  the  railing  of  the  steeple,  the  oKl  man 
looked  anxiously  for  the  fair-haired  boy.  Minutes  passed, 
yet  still  he  came  not. 

"  Ah!  he  has  forgotten  me!  these  old  limbs  will  have  to 
totter  down  the  State-House  stairs,  and  climb  up  again — " 

Yet  even  as  he  spoke,  a  merry  laugh  broke  on  his  ear. 
There  among  the  crowd  on  the  pavement  stood  the  boy, 
clapping  his  tiny  hands,  while  the  breeze  blew  the  flaxen  hair 
all  about  his  face.  Then  swelling  his  little  chest,  he  raised 
himself  and  shouted  a  single  word,  '"Ritti^/" 

Do  you  see  that  old  man's  eye  catch  fire  .••  Do  you  see 
that  arm  suddenly  bared  to  the  shoulder  .'  Do  you  see  that 
withered  hand  grasping  the  iron  tongue  of  the  bell  ^  The 
old  man  is  young  again;  his  veins  are  filled  with  new  life. 
Backward  and  forward,  with  sturdy  strokes,  he  swings  the 
tongue.  The  bell  speaks  out!  The  crowds  in  the  street 
hear  it,  and  burst  forth  in  one  long  shout!  The  city  hears  it 
and  starts  up  from  desk  and  work-bench,  as  if  an  earthquake 
had  spoken.  Yes,  as  the  old  man  swung  that  iron  tongue, 
the  bell  spoke  to  all  the  world. 

That  sound  crossed  the  Atlantic — pierced  the  dungeons 
of  Europe — the  workshops  of  England — the  vassal-fields  of 
France.  That  echo  spoke  to  the  slave — bade  him  look  up 
from  his  toil,  and  know  himself  a  man.  That  echo  startled 
the  kings  upon  their  crumbling  thrones.  That  echo  was  the 
knell  of  all  crafts  born  of  the  darkness  of  ages,  and  baptized 
in   seas   of  blood.      For  under  that   very  bell    pealing  out 


THE    TRIUMPH   OF  PEACE  75 

noonday,  in  that  old  hall,  fifty-six  traders,  farmers,  and 
mechanics  had  assembled  to  strike  off  the  shackles  of  the 
world.  And  that  bell  that  now  voices  the  Declaration  of 
Independence  speaks  out  to  the  world — 

God  has  given  tlie  American  continent  to  the  free,  the  toiling 
7nillic7is  of  the  human  race,  as  the  last  altar  of  the  rights  of 
man  on  the  globe,  the  home  of  the  oppressed,  forevermore  I 

THE   TRIUMPH    OF    PEACE 

By  Edwin  Hubbell  Chapin,  Preacher,  Lecturer,  Essayist.     Born  at 
Union  Village,  N.  Y.,  1814;  died  in  New  York  City,  1880. 

Selected,  by  permission  of  the  publishers,  from  Chapin's    "  Living  Words,"  pub- 
lished, in  1869,  by  the  Universalist  Publishing  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

Stand,  in  imagination,  of  a  summer's  morning,  upon  a 
field  of  battle.  Earth  and  sky  melt  together  in  light  and 
harmony;  the  air  is  rich  with  fragrance,  and  sweet  with  the 
song  of  birds.  But  suddenly  breaks  in  the  sound  of  fiercer 
music,  and  the  measured  tramp  of  thousands.  ]'^ager 
squadrons  shake  the  earth  with  thunder,  and  files  of  bristling 
steel  kindle  in  the  sun;  and,  opposed  to  each  other,  line  to 
line,  face  to  face,  are  now  arrayed  men  whom  God  has  made 
in  the  same  likeness,  and  whose  nature  he  has  touched  to 
the  same  issues.  The  same  heart  beats  in  all.  In  the 
momentary  hush,  like  a  swift  mist  sweep  before  them  images 
of  home;  voices  of  children  prattle  in  their  ears;  memories 
of  affection  stir  among  their  silent  prayers.  They  cherish 
the  same  sanctities,  too.  They  have  read  from  the  same 
Book.  It  is  to  them  the  same  charter  of  life  and  salvation; 
they  have  been  taught  to  observe  its  beautiful  lessons  of  love; 
their  hearts  have  been  touched  alike  with  the  meek  example 
of  Jesus.  But  a  moment,  and  all  these  affinities  are  broken, 
trampled  under  foot,  swept  away  by  the  shock  and  the 
shouting.  Confusion  rends  the  air;  the  simmering  bomb 
plows  up  the  earth;  the  iron  hail  cuts  the  quivering  flesh; 
the  steel  bites  to  the  bone;  the  cannon-shot  crashes  through 


7(>  /:/)// 7.V  ihniBr.i.i.  cH.-iriN 

scrrioil  ranks;  ami  uiuKt  a  cloiul  oi  smoke  that  liuU's  both 
earth  auil  licavt-ii  the  iKs|Kratc  struj^glc  goes  on.  Tlie  day 
wanes,  and  the  strife  ceases.  Un  tlie  one  siile  there  is  a 
victory,  on  the  other  a  defeat.  The  triumphant  city  is 
lighted  witli  jubilee,  the  streets  roll  out  tluir  tidis  of 
acclamatit>n,  ami  the  organ  heaves  from  its  groaning  breast 
the  peal  of  thanksgiving.  But  under  that  tumultuous  joy 
there  are  bleeding  bosoms  and  inconsolable  tears;  and, 
whether  in  triumphant  or  defeated  lands,  a  shudder  of 
orphanage  auti  widowhood — a  chill  of  woe  and  ileatli — runs 
far  and  wide  through  the  worltl.  The  meek  moon  breaks 
the  dissipating  veil  of  the  conilict,  and  rolls  its  calm  splendor 
above  the  dead.  And  see  now  how  much  woe  man  has 
mingled  with  inevitable  evils  of  tlie  universe!  See  now  the 
lierceness  of  his  passion,  the  folly  of  his  wickedness,  wit- 
nessed by  the  torn  standards,  the  broken  wheels,  the  pools 
of  clotted  blood,  the  charred  earth,  the  festering  heaps  of 
slain.  Nature  did  not  make  these  horrors,  and  when  those 
fattening  bones  shall  have  moldered  in  the  soil  she  will 
spread  out  luxuriant  harvests  to  hide  those  horrors  forever. 

Fancy  yourselves  standing  on  the  banks  of  the  Delaware 
more  than  a  century  and  a  half  ago.  The  winds  have 
stripped  the  leaves  from  the  primeval  forest,  save  where  the 
pines  lift  their  dark  drapery  to  the  sky.  The  river  travels 
silently  on  its  way.  All  around  lies  the  solitude  of  nature, 
unbroken  by  wheels  of  traffic  or  triumphs  of  civilization. 
Apart  from  the  roar  and  conflict  of  nations, — apart  from  the 
hurrying  tides  of  interest  and  passion, — this  lone  spot  in  the 
wilderness,  beside  the  calm  river,  is  a  spot  for  peace  and 
love, — a  spot  where  the  children  of  humanity  may  come, 
bury  their  war-weapons,  and  embrace.  Lo !  it  is  that  spot. 
From  the  recesses  of  the  forest  there  glides  a  file  of  red  and 
naked  men,  wild  in  their  strength,  and  uncurbed  in  all  the 
native  impulses  of  humanity.  As  they  cluster  beneath  the 
arching  elm,  or  brood  in  dusky  lines  along  the  woody  back- 
ground, their  eyes  glisten  with  the  fires  of  their  fierce  nature. 


THH    TRIUMPH   OF  PEACE  77 

and  here  and  there  a  hand  grasps  more  closely  its  weapon; 
yet  in  the  grave  silence  and  studied  repose  the  old  men  bend 
forward  their  scarred  faces,  and  the  young  incline  their  ears 
to  hear.  He  who  stands  up  to  speak  to  them  is  a  white 
man,  unarmed,  and  almost  companionless,  yet  in  his  mien 
there  is  neither  hesitation  nor  fear,  and  his  face,  where  mild- 
ness sweetly  blends  with  dignity,  banishes  the  suspicion  of 
deceit.  Consider  him  well;  for  in  the  true  record  of  his  life 
his  name  is  enrolled  higher  than  those  of  heroes.  Unbend- 
ing before  kings,  he  reverences  the  rudest  savage  as  a  man. 
Guided  by  the  "  inner  light,"  the  law  of  conscience  and  of 
truth,  the  Indian's  rights  are  sacred  as  the  white  man's,  and 
he  asks  no  force  to  aid  him  but  the  force  of  love.  And  as 
he  utters  those  simple  words  of  peace  and  justice,  those 
savage  bosoms  grow  warm  with  the  Christian  law,  those 
glittering  eyes  melt  with  charity.  The  child  of  the  red  man 
clasps  the  hand  of  the  white  stranger,  the  belt  of  wampum 
is  made  a  beautiful  symbol,  and  the  words  of  solemn  promise 
go  forth, — the  winds  lift  them  higher  than  any  shout  of  vic- 
tory, the  woods  repeat  them  far  inland,  and  the  Delaware 
bears  them  rolling  by, — "  We  will  live  with  William  Penn 
and  his  children  as  long  as  the  sun  and  the  moon  shall 
endure."  It  was  an  honest  compact.  It  was  a  bloodless 
conquest.  It  was  the  triumph  of  peace  and  right.  The 
historian  records  it  with  a  glow.  The  philanthropist  quotes 
it,  and  takes  courage.  The  Christian  remembers  it,  and 
clings  with  new  faith  to  the  religion  that  accomplished  it. 


78  HLS'KY  CLAY 


CREI:K    RFN'OI.UTION 

By  Henry  Clay,  Lawyer.  Statfsman;  MemhtT  ofCi>nj;ress  from  Ken- 
tucky, iSil  25;  Secretary  of  State,  1825-21);  Senator  from  Keutiuky, 
1831-42,  1S40-52.  Horn  in  Hanover  County,  \'a.,  1777;  died  in 
\Vasliini>ton,  D.  C,  1S52. 

From  .1  speech  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  January  10,  1824  ;  the  House  liavinR 
under  consideration  the  resolution  lliat  provision  ought  to  be  made  by  law  (or  defraying 
the  expense  incident  to  the  appointment  of  a  commissioner  to  (Ireece.  See  "  Life  and 
Speeches  of  Henry  Clay,"  Vol.  1,  piiblislied  in  1S44  by  Van  Amringe  &  liixby.  New 
York,  N.  V. 

No  united  nation  tliat  resolves  to  be  free  can  be  con- 
quered. A*nd  has  it  come  to  this  }  Arc  \vc  so  humbled,  so 
low,  so  debased,  that  we  dare  not  express  our  sympathy  for 
suffering  Greece;  that  we  dare  not  articulate  our  detestation 
of  the  brutal  excesses  of  which  she  has  been  the  bleeding 
victim,  lest  we  might  offend  some  one  or  more  of  their 
imperial  and  royal  majesties  .^  If  gentlemen  are  afraid  to  act 
rashly  on  such  a  subject,  suppose  that  we  unite  in  an 
humble  petition,  addressed  to  their  majesties,  beseeching 
them,  that  of  their  gracious  condescension  they  would  allow 
us  to  express  our  feelings  and  our  sympathies.  How  shall 
it  run  .-'  "  We,  the  representatives  of  the  /rce  people  of  the 
United  States  of  America,  humbly  approach  the  thrones  of 
your  imperial  and  royal  majesties,  and  supplicate  that,  of 
your  imperial  and  royal  clemency — "  I  cannot  go  through 
the  disgusting  recital;  my  lips  have  not  yet  learned  to  pro- 
nounce the  sycophantic  language  of  a  degraded  slave!  Are 
we  so  mean,  so  base,  so  despicable,  that  we  may  not  attempt 
to  express  our  horror,  utter  our  indignation,  at  the  most 
brutal  and  atrocious  war  that  ever  stained  earth  or  shocked 
high  heaven  .'  At  the  ferocious  deeds  of  a  savage  and  in- 
furiated soldiery,  stimulated  and  urged  on  by  the  clergy  of  a 
fanatical  and  inimical  religion,  and  rioting  in  all  the  excesses 
of  blood  and  butchery,  at  the  mere  details  of  which  the  heart 
sickens  and  recoils  .' 

But,  sir,  it  is  not  for  Greece  alone  that  I  desire  to  see  this 


CRHHk'  REyOLUTlON  79 

measure  adopted.  It  will  give  to  her  but  little  support,  and 
that  purely  of  a  moral  kind.  It  is  principally  for  America, 
for  the  credit  and  character  of  our  common  country,  for  our 
osvn  unsullied  name,  that  I  hope  to  see  it  pass.  What 
appearance  on  the  page  of  history  would  a  record  like  this 
exhibit  .■•  "In  the  month  of  January,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord 
and  Savior  1S24,  while  all  European  Christendom  beheld, 
with  cold  and  unfeeling  indifference,  the  unexampled  wrongs 
and  inexpressible  misery  of  Christian  Greece,  a  proposition 
was  made  in  the  Congress  of  the  United  States,  almost  the 
sole,  the  last,  the  greatest  depository  of  human  hope  and 
human  freedom,  the  representatives  of  a  gallant  nation,  con- 
taining a  million  of  freemen  ready  to  fly  to  arms,  while  the 
people  of  that  nation  were  spontaneously  expressing  its  deep- 
toned  feeling,  and  the  whole  continent,  by  one  simultaneous: 
emotion,  was  rising,  and  solemnly  and  anxiously  supplicat- 
ing and  invoking  high  Heaven  to  spare  and  succor  Greece, 
and  to  invigorate  her  arms  in  her  glorious  cause,  whilst 
temples  and  senate  houses  were  alike  resounding  with  one 
burst  of  generous  and  holy  sympathy;  in  the  year  of  our 
Lord  and  Savior — -that  Savior  of  Greece  and  of  us  —  a 
proposition  was  offered  in  the  American  Congress  to  send  a 
messenger  to  Greece,  to  inquire  into  her  state  and  condition, 
with  a  kind  expression  of  our  good  wishes  and  our  sympathies 
— and  it  was  rejected!  "  Go  home,  if  you  can;  go  home,  if 
you  dare,  to  your  constituents,  and  tell  them  that  you  voted 
it  down;  meet,  if  you  can,  the  appalling  countenances  of 
those  who  sent  you  here,  and  tell  them  that  you  shrank  from 
the  declaration  of  your  own  sentiments;  that  you  cannot  tell 
how,  but  that  some  unknown  dread,  some  indescribable 
apprehension,  some  indefinable  danger,  drove  you  from  your 
purpose;  that  the  specters  of  cimeters,  and  crowns,  and 
crescents,  gleamed  before  you  and  alarmed  you;  and  that 
you  suppressed  all  the  noble  feelings  prompted  by  religion, 
by  liberty,  by  national  independence,  and  by  humanity.  I 
cannot  bring  mvself  to  believe  that  such  will  be  the  feclins: 


8o  cf-OKc.i:  rKiSHif:  hoar 

of  a  majority  of  tlic  Loiuiniitcc.  luii,  for  myself,  tliough 
every  friend  of  the  cause  should  desert  it,  and  1  be  left  to 
stand  alone  with  tlie  gentleman  from  Massachusetts,  I  will 
give  to  his  resolution  the  poor  sanction  of  my  unqualified 
approbation. 

THE    PATH    OF    DUTY 

By  George  Frishie  Hoar,  Lawyer;  Member  of  Congress  from  Massa- 
chusetts, 1S6S-76;   Senator,  1877  —  .      Born  in  Concord,  Mass.,  1826. 
Krom  an  open  letter  published  iu  the  daily  papers  of  Boston,  January,  lo,  ic,c)o. 

"  What  he  wants  us  to  do  I  can  define  in  no  other  words 
than  these:    lie  wants  us  to  skulk  from  our  duty." 

1  wish  to  put  against  this  statement  my  emphatic  denial. 
What  I  wanted  the  American  people  to  do  in  the  beginning, 
what  I  have  wanted  them  to  do  all  along,  what  I  want  them 
to  do  now  is  to  do  in  the  Philippines  exactly  what  we  have 
done,  are  doing,  and  expect  to  do  in  Cuba.  .  .  .  We  have 
liberated  both  from  Spain,  and  we  have  had  no  thought^ — at 
least  I  have  had  no  thought — of  giving  either  back  to  Spain. 

I  should  as  soon  give  back  a  redeemed  soul  to  Satan  as 
give  back  the  people  of  the  Philippine  Islands  to  the  cruelty 
and  tyranny  of  Spain.  .  .  .  Having  delivered  them  from 
Spain,  we  were  bound  in  all  honor  to  protect  their  newly 
acquired  liberty  against  the  ambition  or  greed  of  any  other 
nation  on  earth.  And  we  were  equally  bound  to  protect 
them  against  our  own.  We  were  bound  to  stand  by  them, 
a  defender  and  protector,  until  their  new  governments  were 
established  in  freedom  and  in  honor;  until  they  had  made 
treaties  with  the  powers  of  the  earth  and  were  as  secure  in 
their  national  independence  as  Switzerland  is  secure,  as 
Denmark  is  secure,  as  Belgium  is  secure,  as  San  Domingo 
or  Venezuela  is  secure. 

Now,  if  this  be  a  policy  of  skulking  from  duty,  I  fail  to 
see  it.   .    .    . 

We  based  our  policy  in  regard  to  Cuba,  did  we  not,  on 
the   ground   that   it    was   the    policy   of   righteousness    and 


THE  PATH  OF  DUTY  8i 

liberty  ?  We  did  not  tempt  the  cupidity  of  any  millionaire 
or  even  the  honest  desire  for  employment  of  any  workman, 
by  the  argument  that  if  we  reduced  the  people  of  Cuba  to 
our  dominion  we  could  make  money  out  of  her  and  she 
could  not  help  herself.  In  those  days  we  were  appealing  to 
the  great,  noble  heart  of  America,  and  not  to  the  breeches- 
pocket.   .   .    . 

If  we  were  bound  in  honor  and  in  righteousness;  bound 
by  the  history  of  our  own  past;  bound  by  the  principles  and 
pledges  of  our  people,  to  abstain  from  depriving  Cuba  of  the 
liberty  we  had  given  her  because  it  was  right,  we  are,  in  my 
judgment,  all  the  more  bound  to  abstain  from  depriving  the 
people  of  the  Philippine  Islands  of  their  liberties  because  it 
is  right.    .    .    . 

I  would  send  Gen.  Wood  or  Gen.  Miles  or  Admiral  Dewey 
to  Luzon.  I  would  have  him  gather  about  him  a  cabinet 
of  the  best  men  among  the  Filipinos  who  have  the  confidence 
of  the  people  and  desire  nothing  but  their  welfare.  In  all 
provinces  and  municipalities  where  civil  government  is  now 
established  possessing  the  confidence  of  the  people,  I  would 
consult  with  their  rulers  and  representatives.  I  would  lend 
the  aid  of  the  army  of  the  United  States  only  to  keep  order. 
I  would  permit  the  people  to  make  laws  and  to  administer 
laws,  subject  to  some  supervision  or  inspection,  till  the 
disturbed  times  are  over  and  peace  has  settled  down  again 
upon  that  country,  insuring  the  security  of  the  people  against 
avarice,  ambition,  or  peculation. 

So  soon  as  it  seems  that  government  can  maintain  itself 
peacefully  and  in  order,  I  would  by  degrees  withdraw  the 
authority  of  the  United  States,  making  a  treaty  with  them 
that  we  would  protect  them  against  the  cupidity  of  any  other 
nation  and  would  lend  our  aid  for  a  reasonable  time  to 
maintain  order  and  law.  I  would  not  hesitate,  if  it  were 
needful,  although  I  have  not  the  slightest  belief  that  it  would 
be  needful,  to  vote  to  make  them  a  loan  of  a  moderate  sum 
to  replenish  their  wasted  treasury. 


S:?  GEORCr.    IRISBIII   HO.IR 

Now  jf  this  be  skulking,  if  this  be  ignolilc.  if  this  be 
unworthy  of  an  American  citizen  or  a  Massachusetts  Senator, 
tlien  I  must  ))lead  guilty  to  Mr.  Quigg's  charge.  But  these 
are  tlie  tilings  I  would  liave  done,  and  this  is  tlie  thing  I 
would  do  now.  If  this  counsel  had  liccn  followed,  not  a 
man  would  have  died  on  either  sitle;  not  a  drop  of  blood 
would  liave  been  spilt;  not  a  recruit  would  liavc  been  needed 
by  army  or  navy  since  the  day  when  .Manila  caj)itulatcd  to 
Otis.   .   .   . 

I  do  not  know  what  other  men  may  think,  or  what  other 
men  mav  say.  But  there  is  not  a  drop  of  blood  in  my  veins, 
there  is  not  a  feeling  in  my  heart  that  does  not  respect  a 
weak  people  struggling  with  a  strong  one.    .   .    . 

When  Patrick  Henry  was  making  his  great  speech  in  the 
State-house  at  Williamsburg  for  the  same  cause  for  wliich  the 
Filipinos  are  now  dying,  he  was  interrupted  by  somebody 
with  a  shout  of  "treason."  He  finished  his  sentence, 
and  replied,  as  every  Kssex  schoolboy  knows:  "  If  this  be 
treason,  make  the  most  of  it."  I  am  unworthy  to  loose  the 
latchet  of  the  shoes  of  Patrick  Henry.  But  I  claim  to  love 
human  liberty  as  well  as  he  did,  and  I  believe  the  love  of 
human  liberty  will  never  be  held  to  be  treason  by  Massa- 
chusetts. 

There  were  five  of  my  name  and  blood  who  stood  in  arms 
at  Concord  bridge  in  the  morning  of  the  Revolution,  on  the 
19th  of  April,  1775.  My  grandfather  stood  with  John 
Adams  and  Thomas  Jefferson  and  Benjamin  Franklin  when 
they  presented  to  the  Continental  Congress  that  great  paper, 
the  bringing  in  of  which  was  the  foremost  action  of  human 
history,  which  declares  that  the  just  powers  of  government 
rest  upon  the  consent  of  the  people,  and  that  when  a  j)eop]e 
desires  it,  the  laws  of  nature  and  the  laws  of  God  entitle 
them  to  take  a  separate  and  equal  station  among  the  nations 
of  the  earth.    .   .   . 

I  have  no  right  to  feel  any  peculiar  pride  in  the  action  of 
any  ancestor  of  my  own  in  those   great  days  which  tried 


THF.    MAIDEN  MARTYR  83 

men's  souls,  and  when  all  true  Americans  thought  in  that 
way,  although  I  should  be  disgraced,  and  ought  to  hide  my 
head  from  the  gaze  of  men,  if  I  were  to  depart  from  those 
principles.  But  I  have  a  right  to  feel  a  just  pride  in,  and 
to  boast  of  something  much  higher  than  any  personal 
kindred,  I  am  a  son  of  INIassachusetts.  For  more  than 
three-score  years  and  ten  I  have  sat  at  her  dear  feet.  I  have 
seen  the  light  from  her  beautiful  eyes.  I  have  heard  high 
counsel  from  her  lips.  She  has  taught  me  to  love  liberty, 
to  stand  by  the  weak  against  the  strong,  when  the  rights  of 
the  weak  are  in  peril;  she  has  led  me  to  believe  that  if  I  do 
this,  however  humbly,  however  imperfectly,  and  whatever 
other  men  may  say,  I  shall  have  her  approbation,  and  shall 
be  deemed  not  unworthy  of  her  love.  Other  men  will  do  as 
they  please.  But  as  for  me,  God  helping  me,  I  can  do  no 
otherwise. 

THE    MAIDEN    MARTYR 

Anonymous. 

A  troop  of  soldiers  waited  at  the  door; 
A  crowd  of  people  gathered  in  the  street. 
Aloof  a  little  from  them  bared  sabers  gleamed 
And  flashed  into  their  faces.      Then  the  door 
Was  opened,  and  two  women  meekly  stepped 
Out  of  the  prison.      One  was  weak  and  old, 
A  woman  full  of  tears  and  full  of  woes; 
The  other  was  a  maiden  in  her  morn ; 
And  they  were  one  in  name  and  one  in  faith, 
Mother  and  daughter  in  the  bond  of  Christ 
That  bound  them  closer  than  the  ties  of  blood. 

The  troop  moved  on;   and  down  the  sunny  street 
The  people  followed,  ever  falling  back 
As  in  their  faces  flashed  the  naked  blades. 
But  in  the  midst  the  women  simply  went 
As  if  they  two  were  walking  side  by  side 


34  ANONYMOUS 

Up  to  (loJ's  house  o\\  sonic  still  Salibath  morn; 
Only  thcv  wire  not  dad  for  Sabbath  tlay, 
But  as  they  went  about  their  daily  tasks; 
They  went  to  prison  and  they  went  to  death, 
Upon  their  Master's  service. 

On  the  shore 
The  trot^pers  halted;  all  the  shining  sands 
Lay  bare  and  glistening;   for  the  tide  had 
Drawn  back  to  its  farthest  margin's  weedy  mark, 
And  each  succeeding  wave,  with  flash  and  curve, 
Drew  nearer  by  a  hand-breadth.      "  It  will  be 
A  long  day's  work,"  nuirniurcd  those  murderous  men 
As  they  slacked  rein.      The  leader  of  the  troops 
Dismounted,  and  the  people  passing  near 
Then  heard  the  pardon  proffered  with  the  oath 
Renouncing  and  abjuring  part  with  all 
The  persecuted,  convenanted  folk, 
But  both  refused  the  oath:   "  Because,"  they  said, 
"  Unless  with  Christ's  dear  servants  we  have  part, 
We  have  no  part  with  him." 

On  this  they  took 
The  elder  iNIargaret,  and  led  her  out 
Over  the  sliding  sands,  the  weedy  sludge, 
The  pebbly  shoals,  far  out,  and  fastened  her 
Upon  the  farthest  stake,  already  reached 
By  every  rising  wave,  and  left  her  there; 
And  as  the  waves  crept  about  her  feet  she  prayed 
"  That  He  would  firm  uphold  her  in  their  midst. 
Who  holds  them  in  the  lioUow  of  His  hand." 

The  tide  flowed  in.      And  up  and  down  the  shore 
There  paced  the  Prophet  and  the  Laird  of  Lag, 
Grim  Grierson — with  Windram  and  with  Grahame, 
And  the  rude  soldiers,  jesting  with  coarse  oaths, 
As  in  the  midst  the  maiden  meekly  stood. 
Waiting  her  doom  delayed,  said,  "  She  would 
Turn  before  the  tide,  seek  refuge  in  their  arms 


THE  MAIDEN  MARTYR  85 

From  the  chill  waves."      But  ever  to  her  lips 
There  came  the  wondrous  words  of  life  and  peace; 
*'  If  God  be  for  us,  who  can  be  against  ?  " 
"  Who  shall  divide  us  from  the  love  of  Christ  ?  " 
"  Nor  height,  nor  depth,  nor  any  other  creature." 

And  still  the  tide  was  flowing  in; 
They  turned  young  Margaret's  face  toward  the  sea, 
Where  something  white  was  floating — something 
White  as  the  sea-mew  that  sits  upon  the  wave; 
But  as  she  looked  it  sank;  then  showed  again; 
Then  disappeared.      And  round  the  shore 
And  stake  the  tide  stood  ankle-deep. 

Then  Grierson, 
With  cursing,  vowed  that  he  would  wait 
No  more,  and  to  the  stake  the  soldier  led  her 
Down,  and  tied  her  hands,  and  round  her 
Slender  waist  too  roughly  cast  the  rope;  for 
Windram  came  and  eased  it  while  he  whispered 
In  her  ear,  "  Come,  take  the  test  and  you  are  free." 
And  one  cried,  "  Margaret,  say  but  God  save 
The  King!  "      "  God  save  the  King  of  His  great  grace," 
She  answered,  but  the  oath  she  would  not  take. 

And  still  the  tide  flowed  in. 
And  drove  the  people  back  and  silenced  them. 
The  tide  flowed  in,  and  rising  to  her  knees, 
She  sang  the  Psalm,  "  To  Thee  I  lift  my  soul;  " 
The  tide  flowed  in,  and  rising  to  her  waist, 
"  To  Thee,  my  God,  I  lift  my  soul,"  she  sang. 
The  tide  flowed  in,  and  rising  to  her  throat, 
She  sang  no  more,  but  lifted  up  her  face, 
And  there  was  glory  over  all  the  sea, 
A  flood  of  glory,  and  the  lifted  face 
Swam  in  it  till  it  bowed  beneath  the  flood, 
And  Scotland's  maiden  martyr  went  to  God. 


•5  0  li  tiii.iM  rit.Kci:  iKvr. 


THI£    STATIC    OF    MAINE 

\\y  Wll.l.iAM  IMkkck  Kkyk,  Lawyer;  Mt-mbcr  of  Con^jrcss  from  Maine, 
1S71-S1;  Senator,  iSSi— .      Horn  in  Lewiston,  Maine,  1831. 

From  an  address   delivered  at  the  annual  banquet  ot  tlic  New  Kngland  Society  in 
HriK)klyn,  December  n,  iS36.     See  Sixtli  Annual  Report  of  the  Society. 

I  love  the  State  of  Maine  better  than  any  s])ot  in  the  wide, 
wide  worKl.  The  farther  1  travel,  the  more  I  see,  the  better 
I  love  her.  This  may  seem  strange  to  some  liixuriouslv  fed 
and  clotlu-d  ami  iioubed  son  of  the  Empire  State.  Jkit  let 
me  refer  to  what  some  would  eall  the  disadvantages  of  my 
native  State,  and  illustrate  the  magnificent  law  of  compen- 
sation. 

"Your  soil  is  hard  and  unproductive."  Yes,  no  poet 
with  any  practical  knowledge  of  it  would  talk  about  "  tick- 
ling it  with  a  hoe  to  make  it  laugh  with  the  harvest."  No 
tickling  process  will  do  there,  but  it  responds  gratefully  to 
hard  work ;  and  you,  sir,  and  I  know  that  success  attained 
by  adequate  achievement  is  that  alone  which  is  worth  any- 
thing. Did  you  know  that  Maine  last  year  raised  more 
wheat  than  all  tiie  rest  of  New  J'".nglaiul  put  together?  Iler 
liay  croj)  was  worth  fifteen  million  dollars,  and  we  have  an 
agricultural  county  in  the  extreme  northeast  j)art  of  the 
Republic  called  Aroostook  which  has  quadrupled  in  popula- 
tion and  wealth  since  i860. 

"  But  the  surface  of  your  State  is  rugged,  hilly,  moun- 
tainous." Yes,  it  is;  but  remember  that  every  single 
mountain  has  a  fertile  valley,  and  that  five  thousand  rivers 
seek  the  sea  through  those  valleys,  with  currents  so  swift  and 
strong  that  to-day  they  can  carry  every  s{)indle  in  the  United 
States  of  America. 

"  But  these  rivers  and  lakes  are  ice-bound  one-third  of 
the  year."  Ye.s,  but  sixty-five  hundred  men  cut  the  ice  into 
crystal  block.s,  load  it  on  five  hundred  I\Iaine  vessels,  and 
send  it  to  every  port  in  the  United  States. 

"  But    your    coast    is    dangerous,     tempestuous,     rock- 


THE  STATE   OF  MAINE  87 

bound."  Our  coast  is  rock-bound,  I  admit.  But  seven 
thousand  men  cut  and  hammer  and  chisel  that  rough  granite 
into  things  of  beauty  to  adorn  every  city  in  the  Republic; 
load  them  on  five  hundred  more  Maine  vessels,  and  every 
year  bring  us  back  one  million  seven  hundred  thousand 
dollars  in  cash. 

"  But  you  have  immense  forests  in  Maine."  Yes,  we 
have.  We  have  one  forest  in  the  center  of  which  you  might 
plant  the  whole  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts,  and  then 
the  entire  population  would  be  compelled  to  hire  guides  to 
find  their  way  over  the  border.  But  they  are  forests  of  pine, 
and  spruce,  and  hemlock,  and  ten  thousand  men  every  year 
cut  the  trees,  haul  the  logs,  drive  them  to  sawmills,  manu- 
facture them  into  lumber,  load  them  on  vessels,  and  bring 
home  annually  seven  million  dollars. 

But  after  all  the  best  product  of  the  State  of  Maine  is  its 
men  and  women.  The  fathers  scattered  the  seed  of  patience, 
of  endurance,  of  honesty,  of  faith  in  God,  and  of  hope  in  a 
glorious  immortality,  and  a  hundred  years  of  Indian  wars, 
in  which  one  in  every  twenty  of  our  people  was  slain;  a 
ceaseless  strife  with  the  Earth  and  the  Sea  for  the  necessaries 
of  life,  strengthened  that  seed.  Neither  despotism,  nor 
slavery,  nor  great  wealth,  nor  extreme  poverty,  nor  ease,  nor 
luxury  choked  its  growth.  This  Republic  of  ours  has  reaped 
from  it  a  magnificent  harvest  and  grown  strong. 

Were  you  to  ride  to  a  small  country  town  in  Maine,  to  the 
summit  of  a  beautiful  hill,  where  are  an  old  Puritan  meeting- 
house and  an  old  Puritan  schoolhouse,  you  could  see  there 
a  cradle  in  which  one  mother  had  rocked  one  United  States 
senator,  one  Cabinet  officer,  five  members  of  the  National 
House  of  Representatives,  four  governors  of  States,  two 
ministers  plenipotentiary,  one  major-general  in  the  United 
States  Army,  and  one  captain  in  the  United  States  Navy. 
She  was,  indeed,  one  of  our  Puritan  mothers. 

Were  you  to  sound  the  bugle  of  recall  to-night,  what  a 
magnificent  procession  of  the  great,  the  powerful,  the  learned. 


88  CHOKCh'   IKISHIH   HOAR 

the  successful,  wouKl  t.ikc  up  their  line  of  iiuirch  hack  to  the 
old  State.  Manyj^reat  western  cities  would  mourn  for  their 
sons  and  refuse  to  be  comforted  because  they  were  not. 
And  all  the  States  and  Territories  of  the  preat  North  would 
look  with  (.lismay  upon  the  wonderful  exodus  which  was 
taking  place. 

Yes,  our  climate  is  cohl ;  our  snows  are  deep  antl  long 
continued,  it  is  true.  Hut  our  homes  are  warm,  our  lircsides 
bright,  our  winter  evenings  long,  our  books  plenty ;  and  the 
result  is  thoughtful,  earnest,  active,  home-loving  men  and 
women. 


DANIEL  WEBSTER 

By  George  Frisbie  Hoar.  Lawyer;  Member  of  Congress  from  Massa- 
chusetts, 1868-76;  Senator,  1877 — .      Born  in  Concord,  NLiss.,   1826. 

From  a  speech  in  the  Senate  December  20,  1894,  on  the  receiving  of  tlie  statues  of 
Webster  and  Stark.     .See  Congressional  Record,  Dec.  20,  1894. 

Until  the  7th  of  March,  1850,  Daniel  Webster  was  the 
oracle  of  New  England.  His  portrait  was  upon  the  farmers' 
walls.  He  seemed  to  dwell  at  every  fireside,  not  so  much  a 
guest  as  at  home,  in  an  almost  bodily  presence,  mingling 
with  every  discussion  where  the  power,  the  glory,  or  the 
authority  of  the  country  was  in  question.   .    .    . 

No  language  can  fitly  describe  the  condition  of  mind  with 
which  the  report  of  Mr.  Webster's  speech  of  the  7th  of 
March,  1850,  was  heard.  Nothing  could  have  resisted  the 
dominion  of  Daniel  Webster  over  New  England  until  he  pro- 
voked an  encounter  with  the  inexorable  conscience  of  the 
Puritan.  The  shock  of  amazement,  of  consternation,  and 
of  grief  which  went  through  the  North  has  had  no  parallel 
save  that  which  attended  the  assassination  of  Lincoln,  Is 
it  you,  Daniel  Webster,  that  are  giving  us  this  counsel  ? 
Do  you  tell  us  that  when  the  fugitive  slave  girl  lays  her  sup- 
pliant hands  on  the  horns  of  the  altar,  that  it  is  our  duty  to 
send  her  back  to  be  scourged,  to  be  outraged,  to  be  denied 


DylNIEL    IVBBSTER  89 

the  right  to  read  her  Bible,  to  be  the  mother  of  a  progeny 
for  whom,  for  countless  generations,  these  things  shall  be  the 
common  and  relentless  doom  ?  Is  it  you,  the  orator  of 
Plymouth  Rock,  of  Bunker  Hill,  defender  of  the  Constitu- 
tion, from  whose  volcanic  lips  came  those  words  of  molten 
lava,  "  Liberty  and  Union,  now  and  forever,  one  and  in- 
separable "  ?  Has  the  intellect  that  wrought  out  the  massive 
logic  of  the  reply  to  Hayne  descended  to  this  pitiful  argu- 
ment ? 
Do  we — 

Ask  for  this  great  deliverer  now,  and  find  him 
Eyeless  in  Gaza  at  the  mill  with  slaves  ? 

Is  it  slavery  and  union,  now  and  forever,  one  and  in- 
separable ?  Do  you,  who  erected  in  imperishable  granite  the 
eternal  monument  of  Nathan  Dane,  among  the  massive 
columns  of  your  great  argument,  tell  us  now  that  natural 
conditions  are  to  determine  the  question  of  slavery,  and  that 
an  ordinance  of  freedom  is  an  affront  to  the  South,  and  that 
we  must  reenact  the  law  of  God  ?  Do  you,  who  came  to 
the  side  of  Andrew  Jackson  in  1832,  counsel  that  the  lawful 
authority  of  this  nation  shall  yield  to  threats  of  revolution 
and  secession  ?     Is  it  from  you  that  we  hear  no  higher  law  ? 

It  would  have  been  fortunate  for  Mr.  Webster's  happiness 
and  for  his  fame  if  he  had  died  before  1850.  But  what 
would  have  been  his  fame  and  what  would  have  been  his 
happiness  if  his  life  could  have  been  spared  till  1865  ?  He 
would  have  seen  the  transcendent  issue  on  which  the  fate  of 
the  country  hung  made  up  as  he  had  framed  it  in  1830. 
Union  and  liberty,  the  law  of  man  and  the  law  of  God,  the 
Constitution  and  natural  justice,  the  august  voice  of  patriot- 
ism and  the  august  voices  of  the  men  who  settled  the  country 
and  of  the  men  who  framed  the  Constitution  are  all  speaking 
on  the  same  side.  He  would  have  lived  to  see  the  time  for 
concession  all  gone  by;  the  flag  falling  from  Sumter's  walls 
caugnx  as  it  fell  by  the  splendid  youth  of  1861 ;  the  armed 
h :-  jU  pressing  upon   the   Capitol   beaten   back,    everything 


90  CEORCl:    IRISiili:  HO.IK 

which  he  had  lovcii,  cvcivthinj;  whicli  lu'  hail  workcil  for  in 
the  prime  of  his  years  and  in  the  strength  of  his  manhood, 
rallying  upon  one  siilc — patriotism,  national  authority,  law, 
conscience,  duty,  all  speaking  together  and  all  sj)eaking 
through  his  lips  and  rtiK'ating  his  maxims.  He  would  have 
seen  his  great  arguments  in  the  reply  to  llayne,  in  the 
debates  with  Calhoun,  inspiring,  guiding,  commanding, 
strengthening.  The  judge  in  the  court  is  citing  them.  The 
orator  in  the  Senate  is  repeating  them.  The  soldier  by  the 
camp-fire  is  meditating  them.  The  Union  cannon  is  shotted 
with  them.  They  are  flashing  from  the  muzzle  of  the  rifle. 
They  are  gleaming  in  the  stroke  of  the  saber.  They  are 
heard  in  the  roar  of  the  artillery.  They  shine  on  the 
advancing  banner.  They  mingle  with  the  shout  of  victory. 
They  conquer  in  the  surrender  of  Appomatto.x.  They  abiile 
forever  and  "forever  in  the  returning  reason  of  an  estranged 
section  and  the  returning  loyalty  of  a  united  people.  Oh, 
if  he  could  but  have  lived — if  he  could  but  have  lived,  how 
the  hearts  of  his  countrymen  would  have  come  back  to  him! 
The  bitterest  enemy,  the  most  austere  judge,  must  grant 
to  Daniel  Webster  a  place  with  the  great  intellects  of  the 
world.  He  was  among  the  greatest.  Of  all  the  men  who 
have  rendered  great  services  to  America  and  to  the  cause  of 
constitutional  liberty,  there  are  but  two  or  three  names 
worthy  to  be  placed  by  the  side  of  his.  Of  all  the  lovers  of 
his  countr}',  no  man  ever  loved  her  with  a  greater  love.  In 
all  the  attributes  of  a  mighty  and  splendid  manhood  he  never 
had  a  superior  on  earth.  ^Master  of  English  speech,  master 
of  the  loftiest  emotion&  that  stirred  the  hearts  of  his  country- 
men, comprehending  better  than  any  other  man  save 
]\Iarshall  the  principles  of  her  Constitution,  he  is  the  one 
foremost  figure  in  our  history  between  the  day  when  Wash- 
ington died  and  the  day  when  Lincoln  took  the  oath  of 
oflice. 


THE    H^AR    IVITH  AMERICA  9 1 


THE   WAR   WITH    AMERICA 

By  William  Pitt,  £ar/  of  Chatham,  Statesman.     Born  in  Boconnoc, 
Cornwall,  England,  1708;  died  in  Hayes,  Somerset,  1778. 

From  a  speech  made  in  the  House  of  Lords,  November  18,  1777,  on  "  An  Address 
to  the  Throne  Concerning  Affairs  in  America."  Tliis  was  the  great  orator's  last 
speech.  See  "  British  Orations,"  Vol.  I,  published  in  1884  by  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 
New  York,  N.  Y. 

I  will  not  join  in  congratulation  on  misfortune  and  dis- 
grace. I  cannot  concur  in  a  blind  and  servile  address,  which 
approves  and  endeavors  to  sanctify  the  monstrous  measures 
which  have  heaped  disgrace  and  misfortune  upon  us.  This, 
my  Lords,  is  a  perilous  and  tremendous  moment!  It  is  not 
a  time  for  adulation.  The  smoothness  of  flattery  cannot 
now  avail — cannot  save  us  in  this  rugged  and  awful  crisis. 
It  is  now  necessary  to  instruct  the  Throne  in  the  language 
of  truth.  We  must  dispel  the  illusion  and  the  darkness 
which  envelop  it,  and  display,  in  its  full  danger  and  true 
colors,  the  ruin  that  is  brought  to  our  doors. 

Can  the  minister  of  the  day  now  presume  to  expect  a  con- 
tinuance of  support  in  this  ruinous  infatuation  ?  Can  Parlia- 
ment be  so  dead  to  its  dignity  and  its  duty  as  to  be  thus 
deluded  into  the  loss  of  the  one  and  the  violation  of  the 
other  }  To  give  an  unlimited  credit  and  support  for  the 
steady  perseverance  in  measures  not  proposed  for  our  parlia- 
mentary advice,  but  dictated  and  forced  upon  us- — in 
measures,  I  say,  my  Lords,  which  have  reduced  this  late 
flourishing  empire  to  ruin  and  contempt!  "  But  yesterday, 
and  England  might  have  stood  against  the  world :  now  none 
so  poor  to  do  her  reverence,"  The  desperate  state  of  our 
arms  abroad  is  in  part  known.  No  man  thinks  more  highly 
of  them  than  I  do.  I  love  and  honor  the  English  troops. 
I  know  their  virtues  and  their  valor.  I  know  they  can 
achieve  anything  except  impossibilities;  and  I  know  that  the 
conquest  of  English  America  is  an  wipossibilily.  You  cannot, 
I    venture  to   say  it,  you  cannot  conquer   America.      Your 


9-  HI. U.M.IK   H/OKTH   liOYnSEN 

arnnt'S  in  tlic  la>t  war  effected  evcrythiiij;  that  could  be 
effected;  aiul  wliat  was  it  ?  It  cost  a  nunuroiis  army,  under 
the  coinniand  of  a  most  able  general  [Lord  Andierst],  now  a 
noble  Lord  in  this  House,  a  long  and  laborious  campaign, 
to  expel  five  thousand  Krenchmen  from  French  America. 
My  l.orils.  t(^«  cannot  conquer  America.  What  is  \«iiir  present 
situatitin  there  ?  We  do  not  know  the  worst;  but  we  know 
that  in  three  campaigns  we  have  done  nothing  and  suffered 
much.  .\s  to  conquest,  therefore,  my  Lords,  I  repeat,  it  is 
impossible,  ^'ou  may  swell  every  expense  and  every  effort 
still  more  extravagantly;  ])ile  and  accumulate  every  assistance 
you  can  buy  or  borrow;  traflic  and  barter  with  ever}-  little 
pitiful  (lerman  prince  that  sells  and  sends  his  subjects  to  the 
shambles  of  a  foreign  prince;  your  efforts  are  forever  vain 
and  impotent — doubly  so  from  this  mercenary  aid  on  which 
you  rely;  for  it  irritates,  to  an  incurable  resentment,  the 
minds  of  your  enemies,  to  overrun  them  with  the  mercenary 
sons  of  rapine  and  plunder,  devoting  them  and  their  posses- 
sions to  the  rapacity  of  hireling  cruelty!  If  I  were  an 
American,  as  I  am  an  Englishman,  while  a  foreign  troop  was 
landed  in  my  country,  I  never  would  lay  down  my  arms — 
never — never — never ! 

BRIER-ROSE 

By  HjALMAR  HjORTH  BoYESEN.  Novelist,  Professor.      Born  in  Norway, 
1848;  died  in  New  York.  1895. 

From  "  Idyls  of   Norway  and  Other  Poems,"  copyright,  1882,  by  Charles  Scribnei's 
Sons,  New  York. 

Said  Brier-Rose's  mother  to  the  naughty  Brier-Rose: 

"  What   will  become   of  you,    my   child,    there    is    nobody 

knows. 
Xou  will  not  scrub  the  kettles,  and  you  will  not  touch  the 

broom ; 
^'ou  never  sit  a  minute  still  at  spinning-wheel  or  loom." 

Thus  grumbled  in  the  morning,  and  grumbled  late  at  eve, 
The  good  wife,  as  she  bustled  with  pot,  and  tray,  and  sieve; 


BRIF.R-ROSE  93 

But  Brier-Rose,  she  laughed  and  she  cocked  her  dainty  head  : 
"  Why,  I  shall  marry,  mother  dear,"  full  merrily  she  said. 

" ]'ou  marry,  saucy  Brier-Rose!     The  man,  he  is  not  found 
To    marry    such    a    worthless     maid,    these     seven    leagues 

around." 
But  Brier-Rose,  she  laughed,  and  she  trilled  a  merry  lay: 
"  Perhaps    he'll    come,    my    mother    dear,    from    seven/^^« 

leagues  away!  " 

The  goodwife,    with  a  "  humph!  "  and  a  sigh,  forsook  the 

battling. 
But  threw  her  pots  and   pails  about  with   much  vindictive 

rattling. 
"  Alas!   what  sin  did  I  commit  in  youthful  days  and  wild, 
That  I  am  punished  in  my  age  with  such  a  wayward  child  ?  " 

Up  stole  the  girl  on  tiptoe,  so  that  none  her  step  could  hear, 
And,    laughing,  pressed  an  airy  kiss  behind  the  goodwife's 

ear. 
And    she,    as   e'er   relenting,    sighed:     "Oh,    Heaven   only 

knows 
Whatever  will  become  of  you,  my  naughty  Brier-Rose." 

Whene'er  a  thrifty  matron  this  idle  maid  espied, 

She  shook  her  head  in  warning,  and  scarce  her  wrath  could 

hide  ; 
For  girls  were  made  for  housewives,  for  spinning-wheel  and 

loom. 
And  not  to  drink  the  sunshine  and- wild  flower's  perfume.  .   . 

Thus  flew  the  years  light-winged  over  Brier-Rose's  head, 
Till  she  was  twenty  summers  old,  and  yet  remained  unwed. 
And  all  the  parish  wondered :   "  If  anybody  knows. 
Whatever  will  become  of  that  naughty  Brier-Rose  ?  " 

And  while  they  wondered   came  the  Sjjring  a-dancing  o'er 
the  hills; 


94  HJAl.MAR  HJORTH   BOYESEN 

Her  breath  was  wanner  than  of  yore,  and  all   tlie  mountain 

rills 
Witli   their  tinklini:,    ami   their    rij)])ling,    and   their   rushing 

filled  the  air, 
With  the  misty  sounds  of  watiT  forth-welling  everywhere. 

It  was  a  merry  siglit  to  see  the  lumber  as  it  whirletl 

Adown    the   tawny   eddies,    that    hissed,    and    sectlied,    and 

swirled ; 
Now  shooting  through  the  rapids,  and,  with  a  reeling  swing, 
Into  the  foam-crests  diving  like  an  animated  thing. 

But  in  the  narrows  of  tlie  rocks,  where  o'er  a  steep  incline 
The  waters  ])lunged,  and  wreathed  in  foam  the  dark  boughs 

of  the  pine, 
The  lads  kept  watch   with  shout   and   song,   and  sent  each 

straggling  beam 
A-spinning  down  the  rapids,  lest  it  should  lock  the  stream.  .  . 

And  yet — methinks  I  hear  it  now — wild  voices  in  the  night, 
A  rush  of  feet,  a  dog's  harsh  bark,  a  torch's  flaring  light. 
And  wandering  gusts  of  dampness,   and  round  us  far  and 

nigh, 
A  throbbing  boom  of  water  like  a  pulse-beat  in  the  sky. 

The  dawn  just  pierced  the  pallid  east  with  spears  of  gold 

and  red, 
As  we,  with  boat-hooks  in   our  hands,  toward  the  narrows 

sped. 
And  terror  smote  us:  for  we  heard  tiie  mighty  tree-tops  sway, 
And  thunder,  as  of  chariots,  and  hissing  showers  of  spray. 

"Now,    lads,"   the  sheriff  shouted,    "you  are  strong,    like 

Norway's  rock; 
A  hundred  crowns  I  give  to  him  who  breaks  the  lumber-lock! 
For  if  another  hour  go  by,  the  angry  waters'  spoil 
Our  homes  will  be,  and  fields,  and  our  weary  years  of  toil." 


BRIER- ROSE  95 

We  looked  each  at  the  other;  each  hoped  his  neighbor  would 
Brave  death  and  danger  for  his  home,  as   valiant  Norsemen 

should. 
But  at  our  feet  the  brawling  tide  expanded  like  a  lake, 
And  whirling  beams  came  shooting  on,  and  made  the  firm 

rock  quake. 

"Two  hundred  crowns!"   the  sheriff  cried,  and  breathless 

stood  the  crowd. 
"  Two  hundred  crowns,  my  bonny  lads!  "  in  anxious  tones 

and  loud. 
But  not  a  man  came  forward,  and  no  one  spoke  or  stirred, 
And  nothing  save  the  thunder  of  the  cataract  washeard. 

But  as  with  trembling  hands,  and   with  fainting  hearts  we 

stood. 
We  spied  a  little  curly  head  emerging  from  the  wood. 
We  heard  a  little  snatch  of  a  merry  little  song. 
And  saw  the  dainty  Brier-Rose  come  dancing  through  the 

throng. 

An  angry  murmur  rose  from  the  people  round  about. 

"  Fling  her  into  the  river!  "  we  heard  the  matrons  shout; 

"Chase  her  away,  the  silly  thing;  for  God   Himself  scarce 

knows 
Why  ever  He  created  that  worthless  Brier-Rose," 

Sweet  Brier-Rose,  she  heard  their  cries;  a  little  pensive  smile 
Across  her  fair  face  flitted  that  might  a  stone  beguile; 
And  then  she  gave  her  pretty  head  a  roguish  little  cock : 
"Hand   me  a  boat-hook,    lads,"    she  said;    "I   think   I'll 
break  the  lock. " 

Derisive  shouts  of  laughter  broke  from  throats  of  young  and 

old; 
"  Ho!   good-for-nothing  Brier-Rose,   your  tongue  was  ever 

bold." 


9<5  nrS'KY    //■.•// /7:7v\S(W 

An.l.  mockingly.  ;i  iMiat-lmok  into  her  li:iinl  was  lluiig, 
Wlii'ii,    lol    into   the   rivcr"s    midst,    with    darini;    kaps,    she 

We   saw    her   diinlv   tliroiij^h    a    mist  of   ckuso  and    liliiuling 

spray : 
From  beam  to  hiam  slic  skipped,  Hkc  a  \vater-si)riU'  at  l)hiy. 
And  now  ami  tlien  faint  ij^leams  we  cau,tj;lit  of  cohir  lhroUi,di 

the  mist, 
A  crimson  waist,  a  j^oKlen  head,  a  little,  (.l.iinty  wrist. 

In  terror  i)resse(.l  the  people  to  the  niarj^Mn  of  the  hill, 

A  hundred  breaths  were  bated,  a  hundred  hearts  stood  still. 

For,  hark  I   fri^mi  out  the  rapids  came  a  strange  and  creaking 

sound, 
And  then  a  crash  of  tluuuier,  which  shook  the  very  ground. 

'File  waters  hurled   the  lumber  mass   down    o'er  the  rocky 

steep. 
We  lieard  a  muffled  rumbling  and  a  rolling  in  the  deep; 
We  saw  a  tiny  form  whicli  the  torrents  swiftly  bore 
And  flung  into  the  wild  abyss,  where  it  was  ^etn  no  more. 

Ah,    little  naug;hty  Brier-Rose,    thou   couldst    not   weave  or 

sj)in ; 
Yet  thou  couldst  do  a  nobler  deed  than  all  thy  mocking  kin  ; 
F'or  thou  hadst  courage  e'en  to  die,  and  by  thy  death  to  save 
A  thousand  farms  and  lives  from  the  fury  of  the  wave. 

" LET    US    HAVE    PEACE  " 

Hy   Henry  Watterson,   Journalist,  Author;  Member  of  Congress  fnjm 
Kentucky,  1876-77.      Born  Washington,  1).  C,  1840. 
From  a  speech  before  the  .Society  of  the  Army  of  Tennessee,  Oct.  o,  1891. 

'Fhe  war  is  over,  and  it  is  well  over.  God  reigns,  and  the 
Government  at  Washington  still  lives.  I  am  glad  of  that. 
I  can  conceive  nothing  worse  for  ourselves,  nothing  wor.se 
for  our  children,  than  what  might  have  been  if  the  war  had 
ended    otherwise,    leaving    two    exhausted    combatants,    to 


"LET   US  HAVE  PEACEr  97 

become  the  prey  of  foreign  intervention  and  diplomacy, 
setting  the  clock  of  civilization  back  a  century,  and  splitting 
the  noblest  of  the  continents  into  five  or  six  weak  and  wamng 
Republics,  like  those  of  South  America,  to  repeat  in  the  New 
World  the  mistakes  of  the  Old. 

The  war  is  over,  truly;  and,  let  me  repeat,  it  is  well  over. 
If  anything  were  wanting  to  proclaim  its  termination  from 
every  house-top  and  door-post  in  the  land,  that  little  brush 
we  had  last  spring  with  Signor  Macaroni  furnished  it.  As 
to  the  touch  of  an  electric  bell,  the  whole  people  rallied  to 
the  brave  w^ords  of  the  Secretary  of  State,  and,  for  the 
moment,  sections  and  parties  sunk  out  of  sight  and  thought 
in  one  overmastering  sentiment  of  racehood,  manhood,  and 
nationality.    .    .    . 

I  came,  primarily,  to  bow  my  head  and  to  pay  my  measure 
of  homage  to  the  statue  that  was  unveiled  to-day.  The 
career  and  the  name  which  that  statue  commemorates  belong 
to  me  no  less  than  to  you.  When  I  followed  him  to  the 
grave — proud  to  appear  in  the  obsequies,  though  as  the 
obscurest  of  those  who  bore  an  official  part  therein — I  felt 
that  I  was  helping  to  bury  not  only  a  great  man,  but  a  true 
friend.  From  that  day  to  this  the  story  of  the  life  and  death 
of  General  Grant  has  more  and  more  impressed  and  touched 
me.    .    .    . 

He  was  the  embodiment  of  simplicity,  integrity,  and 
courage;  every  inch  a  general,  a  soldier,  and  a  man;  but  in 
the  circumstances  of  his  last  illness,  a  figure  of  heroic  pro- 
portions for  the  contemplation  of  the  ages.  I  recall  nothing 
in  history  so  sublime  as  the  spectacle  of  that  brave  spirit, 
broken  in  fortune  and  in  health,  with  the  dread  hand  of  the 
dark  angel  clutched  about  his  throat,  struggling  with  every 
breath  to  hold  the  clumsy,  unfamiliar  weapon  with  wliich 
he  sought  to  wrest  from  the  jaws  of  death  something  for  the 
oupport  of  wife  and  children  when  he  was  gone!  If  he  had 
done  nothing  else,  that  would  have  made  his  exit  from  the 
world  an  epic! 


9'*^  liiiii.^M  nr.  iriTT  hydf 

A  little  \vhiU>  after  I  came  to  my  home  from  the  lust  scene 
of  all,  I  fouiul  that  a  woman's  ham!  hail  collected  the 
insignia  1  had  worn  in  the  magnificent,  melancholy  pageant 
— the  orders  assigning  me  to  duty  and  the  funeral  scarfs  and 
badges — and  had  grouped  and  framed  them;  uiii)idden, 
silentlv,  tentlerly;  and  when  I  reflected  that  the  hands  that 
did  this  were  those  of  a  loving  Southern  woman,  whose  father 
had  fallen  on  the  Confederate  side  in  the  battle,  I  said: 
"  Tlie  war  indeed  is  over;  let  us  have  peace!  "  Gentlemen; 
soldiers;  comrades;  the  silken  folds  that  twine  about  us 
here,  for  all  their  soft  and  careless  grace,  are  yet  as  strong 
as  hooks  of  steel!  They  hold  together  a  united  people  and 
a  great  nation ;  for,  realizing  the  truth  at  last — with  no 
wounds  to  be  healed  and  no  stings  of  defeat  to  remember — 
the  South  says  to  the  North,  as  simply  and  as  truly  as  was 
said  three  thousand  years  ago  in  the  far-away  meadow  upon 
the  shores  of  the  mystic  sea:  "Whither  thou  goest,  I  will 
go;  and  where  thou  lodgest,  I  will  lodge;  thy  people  shall 
be  my  people,  and  thy  God  my  God." 

THE   MISSION    OF   THE    PUBLIC   SCHOOL 

By  William  De  Witt  Hyde,  Clergyman,  Author,  Educator;  President 
of  Bowdoin  College,  1885 — .     Born  at  Winchendon,  Mass.,  1859. 
Taken  from  an  article  in  The  Educational  Review  for  October,  1896. 

What  is  it  that,  as  taxpayers,  as  parents,  as  members  of 
school  boards,  as  teachers,  we  are  trying  to  do  for  the 
children  and  youth  committed  to  our  charge.'   .    .    . 

Do  we  support  the  public  school  for  the  sake  of  training 
intelligent  voters  .'  ^^'hy,  half  the  scholars  in  these  public 
schools,  unless  there  shall  be  a  constitutional  amendment 
enlarging  the  basis  of  suffrage,  will  never  vote  at  all.  And 
then  do  we  pretend  that  Latin  and  French,  and  physics  and 
chemistry,  and  the  twenty  or  thirty  branches  taught  in  the 
high  school  are  necessary  to  fit  a  boy  to  cast  an  intelligent 
vote  .''  We  have  long  since  left  this  motive  far  behind  in  the 
liberality    of    our   provision    for   public    instruction.      The 


THE  MISSION  OF   THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOL  99 

political  motive  is  not  large  enough  to  explain  our  devotion 
to  our  public  schools. 

Do  we  then  support  the  public  schools  in  order  that  the 
children  may  be  trained  to  earn  their  own  living,  and  thus 
not  become  burdens  upon  the  charity  of  the  State  ?  We  fre- 
quently hear  that  motive  assigned.  But  we  all  know- 
perfectly  well  that  not  half  the  subjects  taught  in  our  public 
schools  have  any  direct  bearing  on  the  ability  of  the  boys  and 
girls  to  earn  a  livelihood.  We  have  gone  far  beyond  the 
industrial  ideal  of  public  education. 

Let  me  try  once  more.  Do  we  support  the  public  schools 
because  we  wish  that  these  children,  who  are  to  be  our 
neighbors  and  fellow  citizens,  shall  be  intelligent,  self- 
respecting,  public-spirited  neighbors  and  citizens;  that  they 
shall  be  good  husbands  and  thrifty  wives;  that  they  shall  be 
wise  fathers  and  mothers;  that  they  shall  be  interested  in 
what  is  noble  and  pure;  enthusiastic  in  support  of  what  is 
generous  and  just;  that  their  homes  shall  ring  with  healthful 
laughter  and  happy  song;  that  their  work  shall  be  wrought 
in  integrity  and  their  recreation  shall  be  healthful  and  uplift- 
ing .f"  Is  anything  less  than  this  the  ideal  we  really  cherish  ? 
Will  anything  lower  or  narrower  justify  the  splendid  efforts 
we  are  making  for  public  education  ?  .    .    . 

Without  our  knowing  it,  the  social  ideal  of  an  intelligent, 
full,  free,  happy,  human  life  for  every  boy  and  girl  born  or 
brought  into  our  midst  has  gained  possession  of  our  minds 
and  hearts.    .    .    . 

This  world  in  which  we  live  is  established  through  wisdom; 
founded  on  truth;  governed  by  law;  clothed  in  beauty; 
crowned  with  beneficence.  The  business  of  the  school  is  to 
open  the  mind  to  understand  that  perfect  wisdom;  to  appre- 
ciate that  wondrous  truth;  to  respect  that  universal  law;  to 
admire  that  radiant  beauty;  to  praise  that  infinite  benefi- 
cence. 

Humanity,  of  which  we  are  members,  has  brought  forth 
great  men  and  glorious  deeds;  it  has  formed  languages  and 


too  nil  ll.-IM    /'/;•     U  III     llVni: 

rcarinl  civiIiz;itions;  it  li;is  cxprL-ssr*.!  its  iiU;ils  and  .ispiratioii'^ 
on  canvas  and  in  stone;  it  has  utttTcd  its  jovs  and  sorrows, 
its  hopes  and  (oars,  in  nui>ic  anil  jioctry.  I'lie  j)rovincc  of 
the  school  is  to  interpret  to  the  scholar  these  glorious  deeds 
of  noble  men  ;  to  open  to  him  the  languages  and  civilizations 
of  the  past;  to  make  him  share  the  pure  ideals  and  lofty 
aims  of  artist  and  architect;  to  introduce  him  to  the  larger 
world  of  letters  and  the  higher  realms  of  song. 

Nothing  lower  than  this  interj)retation  of  nature  and 
humanity  to  man  can  be  accepted  as  the  end  of  education. 
To  make  one  at  home  in  the  world,  and  friends  with  all 
which  it  contains,  is  the  object  of  the  school.    .    .    . 

The  jiublic  school  is  the  institution  which  says  that  the 
poor  boy,  though  he  may  eat  coarser  food,  and  wear  a 
shabbier  coat,  and  dwell  in  a  smaller  house,  and  work  earlier 
and  later  and  harder  than  his  rich  companion,  still  shall  have 
his  eyes  trained  to  behold  the  same  glory  in  the  heavens  and 
the  same  beauty  in  the  earth;  shall  have  his  mind  developed 
to  appreciate  the  same  sweetness  in  music  and  the  same 
loveliness  in  art;  shall  have  his  heart  opened  to  enjoy  the 
same  literary  treasures  and  the  same  philosophic  truths;  shall 
have  his  soul  stirred  by  the  same  social  influences  and  the 
same  spiritual  ideals  as  the  children  of  his  wealthier 
neighbors. 

The  socialism  of  wealth,  the  equalization  of  material  con- 
ditions, is  at  present  an  idle  dream,  a  contradictory  concep- 
tion, toward  which  society  can  take,  no  doubt,  a  few 
faltering  steps,  but  which  no  mechanical  invention  or  con- 
stitutional device  can  hope  to  realize  in  our  day.  The 
socialism  of  the  intellect,  the  offering  to  all  of  the  true 
riches  of  an  enlightened  mind  and  a  heart  tluit  is  trained  to 
love  the  true,  the  beautiful,  and  the  good — this  is  a  possi- 
bility for  the  children  of  every  workingman  ;  and  the  public 
school  is  the  channel  through  which  this  common  fund  of 
intellectual  and  s{)iritual  wealth  is  freely  tlistributed  alike  to 
rich  and  poor. 


THE  SECRET  OE  LINCOLN'S   POWER  loi 

Here  native  and  foreign  born  should  meet  to  learn  the 
common  language  and  to  cherish  the  common  history  and 
traditions  of  our  country;  here  the  son  of  the  rich  man 
should  learn  to  respect  the  dignity  of  manual  labor,  and  the 
daughter  of  the  poor  man  should  learn  how  to  adorn  and 
beautify  her  future  humble  home.  Here  all  classes  and 
conditions  of  men  should  meet  together  and  form  those 
bonds  of  fellowship,  ties  of  sympathy,  and  community  of 
interest  and  identity  of  aim  which  will  render  them  superior 
to  all  the  divisive  forces  of  sectarian  religion,  or  partisan 
politics,  or  industrial  antagonisms;  and  make  them  all  con- 
tented adherents,  strong  supporters,  firm  defenders  of  that 
social  order  which  must  rest  upon  the  intelligence,  the 
sympathy,  the  fellowship,  the  unity  of  its  constituent  mem- 
bers. 


THE    SECRET    OF    LINCOLN'S    PO>X'ER 

r>v  Henry  Watterson,  Journalist,  Author;  Member  of  Congress  from 
Kentucky,    1876-77;    Editor  of    Louisville   Conrier-J oitrtial,    1868 — . 
15um  in  Washington,  D.  C,  1840. 
1  roll!  an  address  delivered  at  Cliicago,  III.,  Feb.  12,  1895. 

What  was  Lincoln's  mysterious  power,  and  whence  .'' 
His  was  the  genius  of  common  sense;  of  common  sense 
in  action ;  of  common  sen.se  in  thought ;  of  common  sense 
enriched  by  experience  and  unhindered  by  fear.  Inspired, 
he  was  truly,  as  Shakespeare  was  inspired;  as  Mozart  was 
inspired;  as  Burns  was  inspired;  each,  like  him,  sprung 
directly  from  the  people. 

I  look  into  the  crystal  globe  that,  slowly  turning,  reveals 
the  story  of  his  life,  and  I  see  a  little  heart-broken  boy, 
weeping  by  the  outstretched  form  of  a  dead  mother,  then 
bravely,  nobly  trudging  a  hundred  miles  to  obtain  her 
Christian  burial.  I  see  this  motherless  lad  growing  to  man- 
hood amid  scenes  that  seem  to  lead  to  nothing  but  abase- 
ment; no  teachers;  no  books;    no  chart,    except    his    own 


lo.'  HFKRY  n.-trri-Rsos 

untutorcil  mind;  no  conip;iss,  except  his  own  undisciplined 
will;  no  light,  save  light  from  Ikavcn;  yet,  like  tiie  caravel 
of  Columbus,  struggling  on  and  on  through  the  trough  of 
the  sea,  always  toward  the  tiestintil  land.  1  see  the  full- 
grown  man,  stalwart  anil  brave,  an  athlete  in  activity  of 
movement  and  strength  of  limb,  yet  vexed  by  weird  dreams 
and  visions;  of  life,  oi  K)ve,  i>f  religion,  st)metimes  verging 
on  despair.  I  see  the  mind,  grown  as  robust  as  the  body, 
throw  off  these  phantoms  of  the  imagination  and  give  itself 
to  the  practical  uses  of  this  work-a-day  world ;  the  rearing 
of  children;  the  earning  of  bread;  the  cumulous  duties  of 
the  husband,  the  father,  and  the  citizen,  I  see  the  party 
leader,  self-confident  in  conscious  rectitude;  original,  be- 
cause it  was  not  his  nature  to  follow;  potent,  because  he 
was  fearless,  pursuing  his  convictions  with  earnest  zeal,  and 
urging  them  upon  his  fellows  with  the  resources  of  an  oratory 
which  was  hardly  more  impressive  than  it  was  many-sided. 
1  see  him,  the  preferred  among  his  fellows,  ascend  to  the 
eminence  ordained  for  him,  and  him  alone  among  the  states- 
men of  the  time,  amid  the  derision  of  opponents  and  the 
distrust  of  supporters,  yet  unawed  and  unmoved,  because 
thoroughly  equipped  to  meet  the  emergency.  The  same 
being,  from  first  to  last;  the  little  boy  weeping  over  a  deatl 
mother;  the  great  chief  sobbing  amid  the  cruel  horrors  of 
war;  flinching  not  from  duty,  nor  changing  his  lifelong 
ways  of  dealing  with  the  stern  realities  which  pressed  upon 
him  and  hurried  him  forward.  And,  last  scene  of  all  that 
ends  this  strange,  eventful  history,  I  see  him  l)ing  dead  there 
in  the  capitol  of  the  nation,  to  which  he  had  rendered  "  the 
last,  full  measure  of  his  devotion,"  the  flag  of  his  country 
wrapped  about  him,  and  the  world  in  mourning  at  his  feet. 
Surely,  he  was  one  of  God's  elect;  not  in  any  sense  a  creat- 
ure of  circumstance,  or  accident,  or  chance. 

The  inspired  are  few.  Whence  their  emanation,  where 
and  how  they  got  their  power,  by  what  rule  they  lived,  moved 
and  had  their  being,  we  know  not.      There  is  no  explication 


THE   FOOL'S   PRAYER  103 

to  their  lives.  They  rose  from  shadow  and  they  went  in  mist. 
We  see  them,  feel  them,  but  we  know  them  not.  They 
came,  God 'sword  upon  their  lips;  they  did  their  office,  God's 
mantle  about  them;  and  they  vanished,  God's  holy  light 
between  the  world  and  them;  leaving  behind  a  memory,  half 
mortal  and  half  myth.  From  first  to  last  they  were  the 
creations  of  some  special  Providence. 

Tried  by  this  standard,  where  shall  we  find  an  illustration 
more  impressive  than  Abraham  Lincoln,  whose  career  might 
be  chanted  by  a  Greek  chorus  as  at  once  the  prelude  and  the 
epilogue  of  the  most  imperial  theme  of  modern  times  .''... 

Where  did  Shakespeare  get  his  genius  .?  Where  did  Mozart 
get  his  music  ?  Whose  hand  smote  the  lyre  of  the  Scottish 
plowman,  and  stayed  the  life  of  the  German  priest .?  God, 
God,  and  God  alone;  and  as  surely  as  these  were  raised  up 
by  God,  inspired  by  God,  was  Abraham  Lincoln;  and  a 
thousand  years  hence,  no  story,  no  tragedy,  no  epic  poem 
will  be  filled  with  greater  wonder,  or  be  follow^ed  by  mankind 
with  deeper  feeling,  than  that  which  tells  of  his  life  and 
death. 

THE    FOOL'S    PRAYER 

By  Edward  Rowland  Sill,  Poet,  Professor,   Editor.     Born  in  Wind- 
sor, Conn.,  1841;  died  in  Cleveland,  Ohio,  1887. 

Reprinted,  by  special  arrangement  with  and  permission  of  tlie  publishers,  from 
"  Poems  by  Edward  Rowland  Sill,"  copyright,  1887,  by  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co., 
Boston. 

The  royal  feast  was  done;  the  King 
Sought  some  new  sport  to  banish  care. 
And  to  his  jester  cried :    "Sir  Fool, 
Kneel  now,  and  make  for  us  a  prayer!  " 

The  jester  doffed  his  cap  and  bells 
And  stood  the  mocking  court  before; 
They  could  not  see  the  bitter  smile 
Behind  the  painted  grin  he  wore. 


I04  r.nU  .-IRD   KOHl.ASD   Sll.l. 

Ill-  bowiil  his  lu;ul,  and  btnt  lii.s  knee 
I'jion  tin-  nionarch's  silken  stool; 
His  pleading  voice  arose:   "  ()  Lonl, 
IJc  merciful  ti>  ine,  a  fool ! 

"  Xo  ])ity,  Lord,  could  change  the  lieart 
From  reil  with  wrong  to  white  as  wool; 
The  rod  must  heal  the  sin:   but,   Lord, 
Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool. 

"  "I'is  not  by  guilt  tlie  onward  sweep 
Of  truth  and  right,  O  Lord,  we  stay; 
'Tis  by  our  follies  that  so  long 
We  hold  the  earth  from  heaven  away. 

"  These  clumsy  feet,  still  in  the  mire, 
Go  crushing  blossoms  without  end; 
These  hard,  well-meaning  hands  we  thrust 
Among  the  heart-strings  of  a  friend. 

"  l"he  ill-timed  truth  wc  might  have  kept — 
Who  knows  how  sharp  it  pierced  and  stung  ? 
The  word  we  had  not  sense  to  say — 
Who  knows  how  grandly  it  had  rung  .■' 

"  Our  faults  no  tenderness  should  ask, 
The  chastening  stripes  must  cleanse  them  all; 
But  for  our  blunders — oh,  in  shame 
Before  the  eyes  of  heaven  we  fall. 

"  Earth  bears  no  balsam  for  mistakes; 
Men  crown  the  knave,  and  scourge  the  tool 
That  did  liis  will;  but  Thou,  O  Lord, 
Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool !  " 

The  room  was  hushed;  in  silence  rose 
The  King,  and  sought  his  gardens  cool. 
And  walked  apart,  and  murmured  low, 
"  Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool!  " 


THB  M.-JN    IVUO    lyiL-IRS    THE   BUTTON 


THE  MAN  WHO  WEARS  THE  BUTTON 

By  John  Mellen  Thurston,  Lawyer;   Senator  from  Nebraska,  1895 — . 
Born  at  Moiitpelier,  Vt.,  1847. 

F'rom  an  address  at  a  banquet  of  tlie  Michigan  Club  of  Detroit,  February  21,  1890. 

Sometimes  in  passing  along  the  street  I  meet  a  man  who, 
in  the  left  lapel  of  his  coat,  wears  a  little,  plain,  modest, 
unassuming  bronze  button.  The  coat  is  often  old  and  rusty; 
the  face  above  it  seamed  and  furrowed  by  the  toil  and  suffer- 
ing of  adverse  years;  perhaps  beside  it  hangs  an  empty  sleeve, 
and  below  it  stumps  a  wooden  peg.  But  when  I  meet  the 
man  who  wears  that  button  I  doff  my  hat  and  stand 
uncovered  in  his  presence — yea!  to  me  the  very  dust  his 
weary  foot  has  pressed  is  holy  ground,  for  I  know  that  man, 
in  the  dark  hour  of  the  nation's  peril,  bared  his  breast  to 
the  hell  of  battle  to  keep  the  flag  of  our  country  in  the  Union 
sky. 

Maybe  at  Donaldson  he  reached  the  inner  trench;  at 
Shiloh  held  the  broken  line;  at  Chattanooga  climbed  the 
flame-swept  hill,  or  stormed  the  clouds  on  Lookout  Heights. 
He  was  not  born  or  bred  to  soldier  life.  His  country's 
summons  called  him  from  the  plow,  the  forge,  the  bench, 
the  loom,  the  mine,  the  store,  the  office,  the  college,  the 
sanctuary.  He  did  not  fight  for  greed  of  gold,  to  find 
adventure,  or  to  win  renown.  He  loved  the  peace  of  quiet 
ways,  and  yet  he  broke  the  clasp  of  clinging  arms,  turned 
from  the  witching  glance  of  tender  eyes,  left  good-by  kisses 
upon  tiny  lips  to  look  death  in  the  face  on  desperate  fields. 

And  when  the  war  was  over  he  quietly  took  up  the  broken 
threads  of  love  and  life  as  best  he  could,  a  better  citizen  for 
having  been  so  good  a  soldier. 

What  mighty  men  have  worn  this  same  bronze  button! 
Grant,  Sherman,  Sheridan,  Logan,  and  an  hundred  more, 
whose  names  are  written  on  the  title-page  of  deathless  fame. 
Their  glorious  victories  are  known  of  men ;  the  historv  of 


tlu-ir  country  givrs  tluin  voice;  llic  white  light  of  jmblicity 
illuminates  them  for  every  eye.  But  tlure  are  thousaiuls 
who,  in  humbler  way,  no  less  deserve  applause.  How  many 
knightliest  acts  of  chivalry  were  never  seen  beyomi  the  line 
or  heard  of  above  the  roar  of  battle. 

(lOil  l)less  tlie  men  who  wore  the  button!  They  pinned 
the  stars  of  Union  in  the  azure  of  our  Hag  with  bayonets,  and 
made  atonement  for  a  nation's  sin  in  blood.  They  took,  the 
negro  from  the  auction-block  and  at  the  altar  of  emancipa- 
tion crowned  him — citizen.  They  supplemented  "  Yankee 
Doodle"  with  "Glory  Hallelujah,"  antl  Yorktown  with 
Appomatox.  Their  powder  woke  the  morn  of  univeisal 
freedom  and  made  the  name  "  American  "  first  in  all  the 
earth.  To  us  their  memory  is  an  inspiration  and  to  the 
future  it  is  hope. 

LIBERTY   AND    UNION 

By  Daniel  Wf.hstek,  Lawyer,  Statesman;  Member  of  Congress  from 
New  Hampshire,  1813-17;  from  Massachusetts,  1823-27;  Senator 
from  Massachusetts,  1827-41,  1845-50;  Secretary  of  State,  1841-43. 
Born  in  Salisbury,  N.  11.,  1782;  died  in  Marshfield,  Mass.,  1852. 

From  "  The  Second  Speech  on  Foot's  Resolution,"  dehvered  in  tlie  Senate,  January 
26,  1830.  See  "  The  W'orks  of  Daniel  Webster,"  Vol.  Ill,  published  by  Little,  Brown 
&  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

I  profess,  sir,  in  my  career  hitherto,  to  have  kept  steadily 
in  view  the  prosperity  and  honor  of  the  whole  country,  and 
the  preservation  of  our  Federal  Union.  It  is  to  that  Union 
we  owe  our  safety  at  home,  and  our  consideration  and 
dignity  abroad.  It  is  to  that  Union  that  we  are  chiefly 
indebted  for  whatever  makes  us  most  proud  of  our  country. 
That  Union  we  reached  only  by  the  discipline  of  our  virtues 
in  the  severe  school  of  adversity.  It  had  its  origin  in  the 
necessities  of  disordered  finance,  prostrate  commerce,  and 
ruined  credit.  Under  its  benign  influences  these  great 
interests  immediately  awoke,  as  from  the  dead,  and  sprang 
forth  with  newness  of  life.     Every  year  of  its  duration  has 


LIBERTY  AND   UNION  107 

teemed  with  fresh  proofs  of  its  utility  and  its  blessings;  and 
although  our  territory  has  stretched  out  wider  and  wider, 
and  our  population  spread  farther  and  farther,  they  have  not 
outrun  its  protection  or  its  benefits.  It  has  been  to  us  all  a 
copious  fountain  of  national,  social,  and  personal  happiness. 

I  have  not  allovyed  myself,  sir,  to  look  beyond  the  Union, 
to  see  what  might  lie  hidden  in  the  dark  recess  behind.  I 
have  not  coolly  weighed  the  chances  of  preserving  liberty 
when  the  bonds  that  unite  us  together  shall  be  broken 
asunder.  I  have  not  accustomed  myself  to  hang  over  the 
precipice  of  disunion,  to  see  whether,  with  my  short  sight, 
I  can  fathom  the  depth  of  the  abyss  below;  nor  could  I 
regard  him  as  a  safe  counsellor  in  the  affairs  of  this  govern- 
ment, whose  thoughts  should  be  mainly  bent  on  considering, 
not  how  the  Union  may  be  best  preserved,  but  how  tolerable 
might  be  the  condition  of  the  people  when  it  should  be 
broken  up  and  destroyed. 

While  the  Union  lasts,  we  have  high,  exciting,  gratifying 
prospects  spread  out  before  us,  for  us  and  our  children. 
Beyond  that  I  seek  not  to  penetrate  the  veil.  God  grant 
that,  in  my  day  at  least,  that  curtain  may  not  rise!  God 
grant  that  on  my  vision  never  may  be  opened  what  lies  behind  ! 
When  my  eyes  shall  be  turned  to  behold,  for  the  last  time, 
the  sun  in  heaven,  may  I  not  see  him  shining  on  the  broken 
and  dishonored  fragments  of  a  once  glorious  Union;  on 
States  dissevered,  discordant,  belligerent;  on  a  land  rent 
with  civil  feuds,  or  drenched,  it  may  be,  in  fraternal  blood ! 
Let  their  last  feeble  and  lingering  glance,  rather,  behold  the 
gorgeous  ensign  of  the  Republic,  now  known  and  honored 
throughout  the  earth,  still  full  high  advanced,  its  arms  and 
trophies  streaming  in  their  original  luster,  not  a  stripe  erased 
or  polluted,  nor  a  single  star  obscured,  bearing  for  its  motto 
no  such  miserable  interrogatory  as  "What  is  all  this 
worth  ?  "  Nor  those  other  words  of  delusion  and  folly, 
"Liberty  first,  and  Union  afterward;"  but  everywhere, 
spread  all  over  in  characters  of  living  light,  blazing  on  all  its 


108  THOMAS   NLLSOS   P.-iCli 

ample  folds  as  llicy  lluat  over  the  sea  and  over  the  land,  and 
in  every  wind  under  the  wliolc  heavens,  tliat  ^itlier  sentiment 
dear  to  every  true  American  licart — Liberty  and  Union,  now 
and  forever,  one  ami  inseparable! 


THE    SOLDIER    OF   THE    EMPIRE 

(Abridged.) 

Hy  Thomas  Nelson  Pack,  Lawyer,  Poet,  Story  writer,     liorn  in  Oak- 
Liii.l.  Va..  1853. 

Taken,  by  permission  of  the  pubiisliurs,  from  "  KIsket  and  Other  Stories,"  copyriglit, 
1891,  by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York. 

It  was  his  greatest  pride  in  hfe  that  he  had  been  a  soldier 
— a  soldier  of  the  empire.  He  was  known  simply  as  "  The 
Soldier,"  and  it  is  probable  there  was  not  a  man,  and  certain 
that  there  was  not  a  child  in  the  Quarter  who  did  not  know 
the  tall,  erect  old  Sergeant  with  his  white  mustache,  and 
his  face  seamed  with  two  saber  cuts. 

Yes,  they  all  knew  him,  and  knew  how,  when  he  was  not 
over  thirteen,  he  had  received  the  cross  which  he  always  wore 
over  his  heart,  sewed  in  the  breast  of  his  coat,  from  the  hand 
of  the  emperor  himself.  He  was  "  the  Sergeant,"  a  soldier 
of  the  empire,  and  there  was  not  a  dog  in  the  Quarter  which 
did  not  feel  and  look  proud  when  it  could  trot  on  the  inside 
of  the  sidewalk  by  him. 

Pierre,  his  son,  was  not  popular  in  the  Quarter.  He  was 
nineteen  years  old  when  war  was  declared  with  Prussia.  All 
Paris  was  in  an  uproar.  Of  all  the  residents  of  the  Quarter, 
none  took  a  deeper  interest  than  the  soldier  of  the  empire. 

The  war  began  in  earnest.  The  troops  were  sent  to  the 
front,  the  crowds  shouting  "  On  to  Berlin."  Nearly  all  the 
young  men  had  enlisted  and  gone.  Pierre,  however,  still 
remained  behind. 

Suddenly  the  levy  came.     Pierre  was  conscripted. 

That  night  the  Sergeant  enlisted  in  the  same  company. 

The  day  they  were  mustered  in,  the  captain  of  the  com- 


THE  SOLDIER   OF   THE   EMPIRE  109 

pany  sent  for  him  and  bade  him  have  the  first  sergeant's 
chevrons  sewed  on  his  sleeve. 

The  army  l»y  still  and  no  battles  were  fought.  Thus  it 
was  for  several  weeks,  but  at  last  one  evening,  it  was 
apparent  that  some  change  was  at  hand,  and  the  army  stirred. 
It  was  high  time.  The  Prussians  were  almost  on  them,  and 
had  them  in  a  trap.     At  length  they  marched. 

The  Sergeant  saw  once  more  the  field  of  glory  and  heard 
again  the  shout  of  victory;  he  beheld  the  tricolor  floating 
over  the  capitol  of  the  enemies  of  France.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  planted  there  by  Pierre— Ha!  France  would  ring  with 
Pierre's  name;  the  Quarter  should  go  wild  with  delight. 

Just  then  the  skirmishers  ahead  began  to  fire,  and  in  a  few 
moments  it  was  answered  by  a  sullen  note  from  the  villages 
beyond  the  plain,  and  the  battle  had  begun.  The  fire  was 
terrific. 

Suddenly  an  officer  galloped  up,  and  spoke  to  the  lieuten- 
ant of  the  nearest  battery. 
Where's  the  colonel  }  " 
Killed." 

"  Where's  your  captain  .?  " 

"  Dead  there  under  the  gun." 

"  Are  you  in  command  .-*  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"Well,  hold  this  hill." 

"  How  long  }  " 
Forever."     And  he  galloped  off. 

His  voice  was  heard  clear  and  ringing  in  a  sudden  lull, 
and  the  old  Sergeant,  clutching  his  musket,  shouted: 

"  We  will,  forever.  " 

There  was  a  momentary  lull. 

Suddenly  the  cry  was : 

"  Here  they  are." 

In  an  instant  a  dark  line  of  men  appeared  coming  up  the 
slope.  The  Lieutenant  of  the  company,  looking  along  the 
line,  called  the  Sergeant,  and  ordered  him  to  go  back  down 


no  THOMAS   NFI.SON  P. -IGF 

the  lull  ami  tell  tin-  ("iciunil  to  send  tlicin  a  support  instantly 
or  they  coulil  not  hold  the  hill  much  longer.  He  delivcreil 
his  message.  , 

"  Cio  back  and  tell  him  he  must  hold  it,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Upon  it  depenils  the  fate  ot  France.  Hold  it  for  France!" 
he  called  after  him. 

The  words  were  heard  perfectly  clear  even  above  the  din 
of  battle  whicli  was  steadily  increasing  all  along  the  line,  and 
they  stirred  the  old  soldier  like  a  trumpet.  He  pushed  back 
up  the  hill  with  a  run.  In  his  ears  rang  the  words — ''/'or 
France  !  "  They  came  like  an  echo  from  the  past ;  it  was  the 
same  cry  he  had  heard  at  Waterloo.  "For  France/" — the 
words  were  consecrated ;  the  emperor  himself  had  used  them. 
Was  it  not  glorious  to  die  for  France! 

With  these  thoughts  was  mingled  the  thought  of  Pierre — 
Pierre  also  would  die  for  France.  The  smoke  hid  everything. 
Just  then  it  shifted  a  little.  As  it  did  so,  he  saw  a  man  in 
the  uniform  of  his  regiment  steal  out  of  the  dim  line,  and 
start  towards  him  at  a  run.  His  cap  was  pulled  over  his 
eyes,  and  he  saw  him  deliberately  fling  away  his  gun.  He 
was  skulking.  All  the  blood  boiled  up  in  the  old  soldier's 
veins.  Desert — not  fight  for  France!  Why  did  not  Pierre 
shoot  him !  Just  then  the  coward  passed  close  to  him  and 
the  old  man  seized  him  with  a  grip  of  iron.  The  deserter, 
surprised,  turned  his  face;  it  was  pallid  with  terror  and 
shame;  but  no  more  so  than  his  captor's. 

' '  Pierre !  "  he  gasped.  ' '  Good  God !  where  are  you 
going  ?  ' ' 

■'  I  am  sick,"  faltered  the  other. 

"  Come  back,"  said  the  father  sternly, 

"  I  cannot,"  was  the  terrified  answer. 

"  It  is  for  France,  Pierre,"  pleaded  the  old  soldier  pitifully. 
There  was  a  pause.  "Then,  dastard!"  hissed  the  father, 
flinging  his  son  from  him  with  indescribable  scorn. 

Pierre,  free  once  more,  was  slinking  off  with  averted  face, 
when  a  new  idea  seized  the  other,  and  his  face  £'reu'  grim  at 


THE  SOLDIER   OF   THE  EMPIRE  m 

s/one.  Cocking  his  musket,  he  took  careful  and  deliberate 
aim  at  his  son's  retreating  figure  and  brought  his  finger  slowly 
down  upon  the  trigger.  But,  before  he  could  fire,  a  shell 
exploded  directly  in  tlio  line  of  his  aim,  and  when  the  smoke 
blew  off  Pierre  had  disappeared.  The  coward  had  in  the 
very  act  of  flight  met  the  death  he  dreaded.  The  counte- 
nance of  the  living  man  was  more  pallid  than  that  of  the 
dead.  No  word  escaped  him,  except  that  refrain,  "  For 
France,  for  France!  " 

I'he  fierce  onslaught  of  the  Prussians  had  broken  the  line 
somewhere  beyond  the  batteries,  and  the  Frencn  were  being 
borne  back.  All  order  was  lost.  It  was  a  rout.  The 
soldiers  of  his  own  regiment  began  to  rush  by  the  spot  where 
the  old  Sergeant  stood  above  his  son's  body.  They 
attempted  to  hurry  him  along,  but  raising  his  voice  so  that 
he  was  heard  even  above  the  tumult  of  the  rout,  he  shouted, 

"  Are  ye  all  cowards  }     Rally  for  France — for  France!" 

They  tried  to  bear  him  along;  it  was  no  use;  still  he 
shouted  that  rallying  cry,  ''For  France, /or  France!  Vive  la 
France/  Vive  FEmperetir /"  and  steadied  by  the  war-cry, 
accustomed  to  obey  an  ofticer,  the  men  around  him  fell 
instinctively  into  something  like  order,  and  for  an  instant  the 
rout  was  arrested.  The  fight  was  renewed  over  Pierre's  dead 
body,  but  the  Prussians  were  too  .strong  for  them,  they  were 
soon  surrounded.  There  was  no  thought  of  quarter;  none 
was  asked,  none  was  given.  Cries,  cheers,  shouts,  blows 
were  mingled  together,  and  clear  above  all  rang  the  old 
soldier's  war-cry,  "/or  France,  /or  France  I  J^ive  la  France/ 
Vive  V Emper eur  /  "  It  was  the  refrain  from  an  older  and 
bloodier  field.  He  thought  he  was  at  Waterloo.  Mad  with 
excitement,  the  men  took  up  the  cry  and  fought  like  tigers, 
but  the  issue  could  not  be  doubtful. 

Man  after  man  fell  with  the  cry  ''For  France  !  "  on  his  lips, 
and  his  comrades,  standing  astride  his  body,  fought  till  they 
too  fell.      Almost  the  last  one  was  the  old  Sergeant. 

It  was  best,  for  France  was  lost. 


11-'  HFKKY    ir.-4Rn   HH/CHHR 

Thiit  niglit  a  group  ai  Prussian  ollkxrs  going  over  the  field 
with  lanterns  looking  after  their  wountled,  stopped  near  the 
spot  where  the  old  Sergeant  had  made  his  la>^t  stanil  for 
France. 

"It  was  just  here,"  saiil  oiu-,  "  tliat  they  nuidc  that 
splendid  rally. 

A  second,  looking  at  the  body  of  an  old  I'Vinth  Sergeant, 
said  simply : 

"  There  died  a  brave  soldier.  " 

Another,    stooping   to   examine  tlie   broken   cross    of   the 
Legion  on  the  dead  man's  breast,  said  reverently: 
He  was  a  soldier  of  the  empire." 


OUR    NATIONAL    FLAG 

By  Henrv  Ward  Beecher,  Clergyman,  Editor,  Author;  Pustor  <>1 
Plymouth  Church,  Brooklyn,  N.  V.,  1847- 87.  Burn  in  l.itchficli!, 
Conn.,  1813;  (lied  in  Brooklyn.  1887. 

From  a  sem\on  delivered  to  two  companies  of  the  "  Brooklyn  Kourteentli,"  many  ol 
them  n\embers  of  the  Plymouth  Church.  Taken,  by  permission  of  the  publishers,  fron\ 
■■  Patriotic  Addresses"  by  H.  W.  Beecher,  published  by  Fords,  Howard  &  Hulbert, 
New  York. 

A  thoughtful  mind,  when  it  sees  a  nation's  flag,  sees  not 
the  fiag  only,  but  the  nation  itself.  And  whatever  may  be 
its  symbol,  its  insignia,  he  reads  chiefly  in  the  flag  the 
government,  the  principles,  the  truths,  the  history,  that 
belong  to  the  nation  that  sets  it  forth.  When  the  Frencli 
tricolor  rolls  out  to  the  wind,  we  see  France.  \\'hen  the 
new-found  Italian  flag  is  unfurled,  we  see  resurrected  Italy. 
When  the  other  three-colored  Hungarian  flag  shall  be  lifted 
to  the  wind,  we  shall  see  in  it  the  long  buried,  but  never 
dead,  principles  of  Hungarian  liberty.  When  the  united 
crosses  of  St.  Andrew  and  St.  George,  on  a  fiery  ground,  set 
forth  the  banner  of  old  England,  we  see  not  the  cloth  merely  : 
there  rises  up  before  the  mind  the  idea  of  that  great 
monarchy. 

This  nation   has  a  banner,  too.      Not   another  fiag  on  the 


OUR   NATIONAL   FLAG  113 

globe  has  such  an  errand,  or  goes  fortli  ujjon  the  sea  carrying 
everywhere,  the  world  around,  such  hope  to  the  captive,  and 
such  glorious  tidings.  The  stars  upon  it  were  to  the  pining 
nations  like  the  bright  morning  stars  of  God,  and  the  stripes 
upon  it  were  beams  of  morning  light.  As  at  early  dawn  the 
stars  shine  forth  even  while  it  grows  light,  and  then  as  the 
sun  advances  that  light  breaks  into  banks  and  streaming  lines 
of  color,  the  glowing  red  and  intense  white  striving  together, 
and  ribbing  the  horizon  with  bars  effulgent,  so,  on  the 
American  flag,  stars  and  beams  of  many-colored  light  shine 
out  together.  And  wherever  this  flag  comes,  and  men  behold 
it,  they  see  in  its  sacred  emblazonry  no  rampant  lion,  and 
no  fierce  eagle;  no  embattled  castles,  or  insignia  of  imperial 
authority;  they  see  the  symbols  of  light.  It  is  the  banner 
of  Dawn.  It  means  lAberty;  and  the  galley-slave,  the  poor, 
oppressed  conscript,  the  trodden-down  creature  of  foreign 
despotism,  sees  in  the  American  flag  that  very  promise  and 
prediction  of  God,- — "  The  people  which  sat  in  the  darkness 
saw  a  great  light;  and  to  them  which  sat  in  the  region  and 
shadow  of  death  light  is  sprung  up." 

If  one,  then,  asks  me  the  meaning  of  our  flag,  I  say  to 
him,  it  means  just  what  Concord  and  Lexington  meant,  what 
Bunker  Hill  meant;  it  means  the  whole  glorious  Revolu- 
tionary War,  which  was,  in  short,  the  rising  up  of  a  valiant 
young  people  against  an  old  tyranny,  toestablish  the  most 
momentous  doctrine  that  the  world  had  ever  known,  or  has 
since  known — the  right  of  men  to  their  own  selves  and  to 
their  liberties. 

Our  flag  means,  then,  all  that  our  fathers  meant  in  the 
Revolutionary  War;  it  means  all  that  the  Declaration  of 
Independence  meant;  it  means  all  that  the  Constitution  of 
our  people,  organizing  for  justice,  for  liberty,  and  for  happi- 
ness, meant.  Our  flag  carries  American  ideas,  American 
history,  and  American  feelings.  Beginning  with  the 
Colonies,  and  coming  down  to  our  time,  in  its  sacred 
heraldry,  in  its  glorious  insignia,  it  has  gathered  and  stored 


114  CH.-IKIFS   r.    IITTII-IU-ID 

chiefly  lliis  suprcnu-  iiloa:  Divine  right  o{  libtrty  in  man. 
l-'vcrv  color  mcaiis  libirty;  every  fonn  of  star  and  beam  or 
stripe  of  liglit  means  Hberty ;  not  hiwlessness,  not  license; 
but  organized,  institutional  liberty — liberty  through  law,  and 
laws  for  liberty! 

OUR    PLEDGE    TO    PUERTO    RICO 

Ry  Charles  K.  Litti.kmki.d,  Lawyer;  AUorney-CJencral  of  State  of 
^L'liIlc,  1889-93;  Member  of  Congress  from  Maine.  1899 — .  Horn  in 
Lebanon.  Me.,  1S51. 

From  a  speech  delivered  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  February  23,  1900;  the 
House  having  under  consideration  the  bill  to  regulate  the  trade  of  Puerto  Rico.  See 
Congressional  Record,  Feb.  23,  1900. 

In  1898  the  army  of  the  United  States,  in  a  war  declared 
in  the  interest  of  humanity,  and  upon  the  proposition  that 
the  old  flag  w'ould  carry  with  it  liberty  and  freedom  and 
equal  opportunity  and  all  the  blessings  of  a  Christian  civil- 
ization, went  where  }  It  went  to  the  island  of  Puerto  Rico, 
and  Major-General  Miles  held  the  standard.  In  the  procla- 
mation with  which  General  Miles  signalized  his  advent  upon 
Puerto  Rican  soil,  he  said:  "  We  come  bearing  the  banner 
of  freedom,  inspired  by  a  noble  purpose,  to  seek  the  enemies 
of  our  country  and  yours,  and  to  destroy  or  capture  all  who 
are  in  armed  resistance.  Wc  bring  you  the  fostering  arm  of 
a  nation  of  free  people,  whose  greatest  power  is  in  its  justice 
and  humanity  to  all  those  living  within  its  /old.  ^^'e  have  not 
come  to  make  war  upon  the  peo])le  of  a  country  that  for 
centuries  has  been  oppressed,  but,  on  the  contrary,  U)  bring 
you  protection,  not  only  to  yourselves  but  to  your  ])roj)erty, 
to  promote  your  prosperity,  and  to  bestow  upon  you  the 
immunities  and  blessings  of  the  liberal  institutions  of  our 
government. " 

Relying  upon  this  proclamation  these  people  did  what  .' 
They  prostrated  themselves  before  him;  they  covered  him 
with  wreaths  and  garlands  of  flowers;  they  kissed  the  flag 
that  was  carried  there  under  that  promise,  and  the  delegate? 


OUR   PLEDGE    TO   PUERTO   RICO  115 

from  Puerto  Rico  stand  here,  asking  the  Republican  party 
to  make  good  the  promise  made  by  General  Miles  for  the 
Republic,  when  they  eagerly  delivered  "The  Ever-Faithful 
Isle"  into  his  all-conquering  hands.  Miles,  the  magnificent 
representative  of  our  institutions,  the  typical  American 
citizen,  who  won  his  way,  by  sheer  force  of  merit,  ability, 
and  valor,  from  the  position  of  a  common  soldier,  step 
by  step,  to  the  position  of  leader  of  the  Armies  of  the 
Republic. 

I  never  will  vote  to  violate  the  promise  he  made  or  to 
repudiate  the  pledge.  The  Republic  cannot  afford,  in  this 
or  any  other  campaign,  to  violate  that  sacred  promise.  It 
is  written  in  the  blood  of  our  heroes  that  fought  at  El  Caney, 
San  Juan,  and  Santiago.  It  was  made  in  the  presence  of  all 
Christendom,  and  it  is  sealed  by  the  God  of  battles.  The 
Republic  cannot  violate  that  promise  made  to  this  weak  and 
helpless  people,  without  sullying  its  honor  and  tarnishing 
its  fame.  .  .  .  Why,  gentlemen  here  say  that  we  are  about 
to  inaugurate  a  policy  of  colonial  government.  I  want  to  ask 
the  gentlemen  in  this  House  if  they  desire  to  signalize  their 
entry  upon  a  colonial  government,  in  their  very  first  act,  by  a 
breach  of  good  faith.  Do  you  remember  the  history  of  proud 
Spain  }  What  is  it .''  What  is  it  that  has  characterized  Spain 
ever  since  the  sixteenth  century,  ever  since  Pizzarro  rode 
ruthless  and  roughshod  over  Mexico,  and  the  Duke  of  Alva 
filled  the  Netherlands  with  carnage,  blood,  butcheries,  and 
indescribalbe  horrors,  in  his  infamous  attempt  to  crush  out 
the  very  beginning  of  civil  and  religious  liberty  ^  What  is  it 
that  has  characterized  her  and  made  her  contemptible  before 
every  honorable  nation  upon  the  earth  }  It  is  her  duplicity 
and  her  breaches  of  good  faith. 

Puerto  Rico  kneels  to-day,  weak,  helpless,  starving,  with 
her  hands  held  toward  us  in  supplication.  She  pleads  for 
the  fulfillment  of  this  promise.  Her  prayers  may  fall  upon 
deaf  ears,  that  will  not  hear  in  this  House,  but  there  is  one 
tribunal  to  which  I  fullv  believe  they  may  confidently  appeal 


ii(>  Hrs'R)    ir.-ii<n  lurcHi-.R 

— the  cnliglitt-'iUHl.  unsilfisli,  C'liristian  consticiuo  of  a  p;roat. 
and  free  jH-oplo. 

We  hear  :\  great  deal  in  these  days  about  tlie  glory  of  the 
Republic,  the  grandeur  of  its  institutions,  its  unparalleled 
civilization.  May  the  action  of  the  House  wiuihily  ex- 
emplify these  lofty  sentiments.  Then  may  our  Hag  float  over 
the  whole  Republic,  in  the  Occident  as  well  as  tlie  Orient, 
over  the  Pearl  of  the  Antilles,  and  the  Thousand  Islands 
near  far-off  Cathay,  upon  land  and  sea,  over  school  house  and 
church,  the  emblem  of  our  integrity  and  good  faith,  of  liberty 
and  freedom,  of  the  inestimable  blessings  of  a  Christian 
civilization.  Thus,  and  only  thus,  will  it  be  and  ever 
remain,  by  the  blessing  and  favor  of  Almiglity  (ioii,  the  un- 
sullied and  untarnished  symbol  of  our  honor,  our  glory,  and 
our  splendor. 

HORACE   GREELEY 

By  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  Clergyman,  Editor,  Author;  Pastor  of 
Plymouth  Church.  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  1847-87.  Born  in  Litchfield, 
Conn.,  1813;   died  in  Brooklyn,  1887. 

Spoken  at  the  funeral  of  Horace  Greeley,  November,  1S72. 

There  is  no  one  that  dies  whose  death  is  not  momentous, 
if  we  but  behold  it  as  God's  angels  do.  Every  day  hundreds 
and  hundreds  are  borne  through  your  streets  and  laid  away 
to  sleep  in  yonder  Greenwood,  leaving  behind  them  sorrow 
and  tears,  and  many  reverent  thoughts;  yet  no  one,  I  think, 
has  gone  bearing  with  him  so  many  sympathies,  so  much 
kindness,  so  many  tender  recollections,  as  he  who  lies  before 
you. 

Who  is  this  man,  bearing  upon  him  all  the  civic  honors 
that  the  land  could  give  him  '^  Who  is  this  man  ?  One 
whose  wealth  has  made  him  a  prince  in  benevolence  .''  He 
was  not  rich  in  living,  nor  in  dying  rich.  Who  is  this  man  ? 
Some  one  gifted  with  all  kindness  of  heart,  and  singular  tact 
of  administration,  that  should  make  every  one  his  friend  who 
came  near  him  .•"     But  he  was  a  man  of  war,  who  for  thirty 


HORACF.    GREELEY  Il7 

years  has  filled  the  land  with  the  racket  of  various  controver- 
sies; and  yet  to-day,  without  office,  without  title,  without 
place  except  that  of  the  humblest  citizen,  the  Government 
itself  stands  still,  and  the  honored  representative  and  Chief 
IMagistrate  of  this  great  people  is  here  to  bow  his  head  in 
unfeigned  sympathy.  Here  are  men  who  have  scarcely  yet 
laid  down  the  bow  from  which  the  last  arrow  has  been  shot 
— all  gathered  in  genuine  sympathy  around  about  this  man 
who  can  speak  no  more,  walk  in  our  presence  no  more,  but 
has  gone  out  from  us  forever. 

Is  it  that  death  has  made  us  forget  all  our  differences  ? 
We  have  not  forgotten  them.  We  differ  to-day  as  much  in 
theory,  as  much  in  philosophy,  in  the  best  methods  of  policy, 
as  we  did  a  month  ago.  A  month  ago  the  whole  land  was 
full  of  clamor.  A  little  while  ago  men  were  in  fierce  battle. 
There  has  been  no  change  in  it;  and  yet  he  who  was  the 
chief  mark  on  one  side  lies  before  you;  and  you  press  around 
him  in  tears  to-day  to  do  him  reverence.  It  is  because  the 
man  is  more  than  a  professional  man;  not  the  candidate, 
not  the  editor.  The  man  that  lay  under  them  all  is  honored 
and  honorable.  And  when  the  conflicts  of  life  intermit  for 
a  moment,  and  you  can  look  into  that  which  belongs  to  your 
essential  manhood,  you  do  revere  him  and  love  him.  And 
you  are  brought  together  to  express  here  your  honor  and 
your  reverence  for  Horace  Greeley. 

For  thirty  years  he  has  builded  for  himself  no  outward 
monument,  no  long  line  of  literary  efforts,  no  mansion,  no 
estate;  but  for  thirty  years  that  heart  that  meant  well  by 
every  human  being  has  been  beating,  beating,  and  giving 
some  drops  of  its  blood  to  countless  multitudes,  until 
to-day,  between  the  two  oceans,  there  is  hardly  an  intelligent 
man  or  child  that  does  not  feel  the  influence  of  the  life  of 
Horace  Greeley. 

And  now  what  matters  it,  in  your  present  thought,  that 
in  the  party  divisions  of  life  he  was  on  one  side  and  you  were 
on  the  other  ?      Horace  Greeley  gave  the  strength  of  his  life 


1  iS  ROHURT  HROHNIS'C 

to  cilucation,  til  honest  imlustry,  to  humanity,  especially 
toward  the  poor  and  the  unfricndcil.  He  was  feet  for  the 
lame;  he  was  tongue  for  the  dumb;  he  was  an  eye  for  the 
blind  ;  and  hail  a  heart  for  those  who  liad  none  to  sympathize 
with  tliem.  His  nature  longed  for  more  love  than  it  had, 
and  more  sympathy  than  was  ever  administered  to  it.  The 
great  heart  working  through  life  fell  at  last.  It  had  been 
for  intelligence,  for  industry,  for  an  honestcr  life  and  a 
nobler  manhood;  and  his  deeds  will  be  known  and  felt  to 
the  latest  generations  in  our  land.  He  has  been  a  national 
benefactor;  and  to-day  wc  are  all  speaking  kindly  of  him — 
sorrowfully. 

Oh !  men,  is  there  nothing  for  you  to  do — you  who  with 
uplifted  hands  a  few  short  weeks  ago  were  doing  such  battle  ? 
Think  of  those  conflicts,  in  which  you  forgot  charity,  kind- 
liness, goodness!  What  do  you  think  of  them  now  ?  Look 
here  at  all  that  remains  of  this  man.  Did  you  not  magnify 
the  differences  .•'  It  is  not  enough  that  you  should  mou-n 
with  those  that  mourn.  Carry  back  with  you  a  kinder  and 
chastened  feeling. 

At  last,  at  last!  he  rests  as  one  that  has  been  driven 
through  a  long  voyage  by  storms  that  would  not  abate,  but 
reaches  the  shore  and  stands  upon  the  firm  earth;  sees  again 
the  shady  trees,  and  the  green  fields,  and  the  beaming  sun. 
So  he,  through  a  long  and  not  untempestuous  voyage,  has 
reached  the  shore  and  is  at  rest.  How  blessed  are  the  dead 
that  die  in  the  Lord! 


INCIDENT   OF  THE   FRENCH    CAMP 

By  Robert  Browning,    Poet.     Bom  in  Camberwell,   England,  1812; 
died  in  Venice,  Italy,  1889. 

You  know,  we  French  stormed  Ratisbon  : 

A  mile  or  so  away 
On  a  little  mound,  Napoleon 

Stood  on  our  storming-day; 


INCIDENT  OF    THE  FRENCH  CAMP  II9 

With  neck  out -thrust,  you  fancy  how, 

Legs  wide,  arms  locked  behind, 
As  if  to  balance  the  prone  brow 

Oppressive  with  its  mind. 

Just  as  perhaps  he  mused,  "  My  plans 

That  soar,  to  earth  may  fall. 
Let  once  my  army-leader  Lannes 

Waver  at  yonder  wall," — 
Out  'twixt  the  battery  smokes  there  flew 

A  rider,  bound  on  bound 
Full-galloping;  nor  bridle  drew 

Until  he  reached  the  mound. 

Then  off  there  flung  in  smiling  joy. 

And  held  himself  erect 
By  just  his  horse's  mane,  a  boy: 

You  hardly  could  suspect — 
(So  tight  he  kept  his  lips  compressed. 

Scarce  any  blood  came  through) 
You  looked  twice  ere  you  saw  his  breast 

Was  all  but  shot  in  two. 

"  Well,"  cried  he,  "  Emperor,  by  God's  grace 

We've  got  you  Ratisbon! 
The  Marshal's  in  the  market-place. 

And  you'll  be  there  anon 
To  see  your  flag-bird  flap  his  vans 

Where  I,  to  heart's  desire. 
Perched  him!  "     The  chief's  eye  flashed;  his  plans 

Soared  up  again  like  fire. 

The  chief's  eye  flashed;  but  presently 

Softened  itself,  as  sheathes 
A  film  the  mother-eagle's  eye 

When  her  bruised  eaglet  breathes; 


I20  I  yni..f  M.iRiA  ciiii.n 

"  "\'ou"iv  WDumU'il!  " — "  Nay,"  the  soKlirr's  pride 

'roiulu'il  to  llir  (iiiick,  hv  said  : 
"  I'm  killed,  Sirr!  '"      And  his  chief  beside, 

Smiling,  the  boy  fell  dead. 


SUPPOSED   SPEECH   OF  JAMES   OTIS 

l?y  Lydia  Maria  CiiiLn,  Novehst,  Journalist;  Author  of  the  first  aiiti- 
slavery  l)ook  printed  in  America.  Horn  in  Medfoni,  Mass.,  1802; 
died  in  Wayland,  Mass.,  1880. 

Taken  from  the  novel,  "  The  Rebels  of  licslon  before  the   Revolution."  published  in 
liii. 

England  may  as  well  dam  up  the  waters  of  the  Nile  with 
bidrushes  as  to  fetter  the  step  of  freedom,  more  proud  and 
firm  in  this  youtliful  land  than  where  she  treads  the  seques- 
tered glens  of  Scotland,  or  couches  herself  among  the  mag- 
nificent mountains  of  Switzerland.  Arbitrary  principles  like 
those  against  which  we  now  contend  have  cost  one  king  of 
England  his  life,  another  his  crown,  and  they  may  yet  cost 
a  third  his  most  flourishing  colonies. 

We  are  two  millions — one-fifth  fighting  men.  We  are  bold 
and  vigorous,  and  we  call  no  man  master.  To  the  nation 
from  whom  we  are  proud  to  derive  our  origin  we  were  ever, 
and  we  ever  will  be,  ready  to  yield  unforced  assistance;  but 
it  must  not,  and  it  never  can  be,  e.xtorted. 

Some  have  sneeringly  asked,  "  Are  the  Americans  too  poor 
to  pay  a  few  pounds  on  stamped  paper?  "  No!  America, 
thanks  to  God  and  herself,  is  rich.  But  the  right  to  take 
ten  pounds  implies  the  right  to  take  a  thousand;  and  what 
must  be  the  wealth  that  avarice,  aided  by  power,  cannot 
e.xhaust  ?  True,  the  specter  is  now  small;  but  the  shadow 
he  casts  before  him  is  huge  enough  to  darken  all  this  fair 
land.  Others,  in  sentimental  style,  talk  of  the  immense  debt 
of  gratitude  which  we  owe  to  England.  And  what  is  the 
amount  of  this  debt  .-•  Why,  truly,  it  is  the  same  that  the 
young  lion  owes  to  the  dam  vhich  has  brought  it  forth  on 


supposnn  srr.r.cH  oi'  jamf.s  oris  121 

the  solitude  of  the  mountain,  or  left  it  amid  the  winds  and 
storms  of  the  desert. 

We  plunged  into  the  wave,  with  the  great  charter  of  free- 
dom in  our  teeth,  because  the  fagot  and  torch  were  behind 
lis.  We  have  waked  this  new  world  from  its  savage  lethargy; 
forests  have  been  prostrated  in  our  path;  towns  and  cities 
have  grown  up  suddenly  as  the  flowers  of  the  tropics;  and 
the  fires  in  our  autumnal  woods  are  scarcely  more  rapid  than 
the  increase  of  our  wealth  and  population.  And  do  we  owe 
all  this  to  the  kind  succor  of  the  mother  country  ?  No!  we 
owe  it  to  the  tyranny  that  drove  us  from  her — to  the  pelting 
storms  which  invigorated  our  helpless  infancy. 

But  perhaps  others  will  say,  "  We  ask  no  money  from 
your  gratitude, — we  only  demand  that  you  should  pay  your 
own  expenses."  And  who,  I  pray,  is  to  judge  of  their 
necessity  ?  Why,  the  King, — and,  with  all  due  reverence  to 
his  sacred  majesty,  he  understands  the  real  wants  of  his  dis- 
tant subjects  as  little  as  he  does  the  language  of  the 
Choctaws!  Who  is  to  judge  concerning  the  frequency  of 
these  demands  ?  The  Ministry.  Who  is  to  judge  whether 
the  money  is  properly  expended  ?  The  Cabinet  behind  the 
Throne.  In  every  instance,  those  who  take  are  to  judge  for 
those  who  pay.  If  this  system  is  suffered  to  go  into  opera- 
tion, we  shall  have  reason  to  esteem  it  a  great  privilege  that 
rain  and  dew  do  not  depend  upon  Parliament;  otherwise 
they  would  soon  be  taxed  and  dried.  But,  thanks  to  God, 
there  is  freedom  enough  upon  earth  to  resist  such  monstrous 
injustice!  The  flame  of  liberty  is  extinguished  in  Greece 
and  Rome;  but  the  light  of  its  glowing  embers  is  still  bright 
and  strong  on  the  shores  of  America.  Actuated  by  its  sacred 
influence,  we  will  resist  unto  death.  But  we  will  not  coun- 
tenance anarchy  and  misrule.  The  wrongs  that  a  desperate 
community  have  heaped  upon  their  enemies  shall  be  amply 
and  speedily  repaired.  Still,  it  may  be  well  for  some  proud 
men  to  remember  that  a  fire  is  lighted  in  these  Colonies 
which  one  breath  of  their  King  may  kindle  into  such  fury 
that  tlie  blood  of  all  England  cannot  extinguish  it! 


m h )kLR    T.U.l.-ihHKRi )    //  -.iSfllNC  K  )N 


THE    SOLUTION    OF   THE    SOUTHERN    PROBLEM 

l\v  llooKKR  Taliaik.K1u>  WASHINGTON,  Onitor,  Educator;  rrincipul  of 
Tuskcgcc  Normal  ami  Industrial  Institute.  Horn  a  slave  noar  Hale's 
Ford,  Va.,  in  1857  or  1858. 

Friim  an  address  delivered  at  the  opening  of  (lie  Cotton   States  and  Interiutional 
Kxposition,  at  Atlanta,  Ga.,  Sept.  18,  i8>^5. 

A  ship  lost  at  si-a  for  ni.iny  days  siuKlcnly  siglitcd  a  friciully 
vessel.  I'Vom  tlio  mast  of  the-  unfortunate  vessel  was  seen  a 
signal:  "Water,  water;  we  die  of  thirst!"  The  answer 
from  the  friendly  vessel  at  once  came  back:  "Cast  down 
vour  bucket  where  you  are."  A  second  time  the  signal, 
"  Water,  water;  send  us  water!  "  ran  up  from  the  distressed 
vessel,  and  was  answered:  "Cast  down  your  bucket  where 
vou  are."  .  .  .  The  captain  of  the  distressed  vessel,  at  last 
heeding  the  injunction,  cast  down  his  bucket,  and  it  came 
up  full  of  fresh,  sparkling  water  from  the  mouth  of  the 
Amazon  River.  To  those  of  my  race  who  depend  on  better- 
ing their  condition  in  a  foreign  land,  or  who  underestimate 
the  importance  of  cultivating  friendly  relations  with  the 
Southern  white  man,  who  is  their  next-door  neighbor,  I 
would  say:  "  Cast  down  your  bucket  where  you  are  " — cast 
it  down  in  making  friends  in  every  manly  way  of  the  people 
of  all  races  by  whom  we  are  surrounded. 

Cast  it  dow^n  in  agriculture,  in  mechanics,  in  commerce, 
in  domestic  service,  and  in  the  professions.    .    ,   . 

Our  greatest  danger  is,  that  in  the  great  leap  from  slavery 
to  freedom  we  may  overlook  the  fact  that  the  masses  of  us 
are  to  live  by  the  productions  of  our  hands,  and  fail  to  keep 
in  mind  that  we  shall  prosper  in  proportion  as  we  learn  to 
dignify  and  glorify  common  labor  and  put  brains  and  skill 
into  the  common  occupations  of  life;  shall  prosper  in  pro- 
portion as  we  learn  to  draw  the  line  between  the  superficial 
and  the  substantial,  the  ornamental  gewgaws  of  life  and  the 
useful.  No  race  can  prosper  till  it  learns  that  there  is  as 
much  dignity  in  tilling  a  field  as  in  writing  a  poem.      It  is 


THE  SOLUTION   OF   THE  SOUTHERN  PROBLEM      123 

at  the  bottom  of  life  we  must  begin,  and  not  at  the  .top. 
Nor  should  we  permit  our  grievances  to  overshadow  our 
opportunities. 

To  those  of  the  white  race  who  look  to  the  incoming  of 
those  of  foreign  birth  and  strange  tongue  and  habits  for  the 
prosperity  of  the  South,  were  I  permitted  I  would  repeat 
what  I  say  to  my  own  race,  "  Cast  down  your  bucket  where 
you  are."  Cast  it  down  among  the  eight  million  negroes 
whose  habits  you  know,  whose  fidelity  and  love  you  have 
tested  in  days  when  to  have  proved  treacherous  meant  the 
ruin  of  your  firesides.  Cast  down  your  bucket  among  these 
people  who  have,  without  strikes  and  labor  wars,  tilled  your 
fields,  cleared  your  forests,  builded  your  railroads  and  cities, 
and  brought  forth  treasures  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and 
helped  make  possible  this  magnificent  representation  of  the 
progress  of  the  South.  Casting  down  your  bucket  among 
my  people,  helping  and  encouraging  them  to  education  of 
head,  hand,  and  heart,  you  will  find  that  they  will  buy  your 
surplus  land,  make  blossom  the  waste  places  in  your  fields, 
and  run  your  factories.  While  doing  this,  you  can  be  sure 
in  the  future,  as  in  the  past,  that  you  and  your  families  will 
be  surrounded  by  the  most  patient,  faithful,  law-abiding, 
and  unresentful  people  that  the  world  has  seen.  As  we  have 
proved  our  loyalty  to  you  in  the  past,  in  nursing  your 
children,  watching  by  the  sick-bed  of  your  mothers  and 
fathers,  and  often  following  them  with  tear-dimmed  eyes  to 
their  graves,  so  in  the  future,  in  our  humble  way,  we  shall 
stand  by  you  with  a  devotion  that  no  foreigner  can  approach, 
ready  to  lay  down  our  lives,  if  need  be,  in  defense  of  yours, 
interlacing  our  industrial,  commercial,  civil,  and  religious 
life  with  yours  in  a  way  that  shall  make  the  interests 
one.   .   .   . 

And  here,  bending,  as  it  were,  over  the  altar  that  represents 
the  results  of  the  struggles  of  your  race  and  mine,  both 
starting  practically  empty-handed  three  decades  ago,  I  pledge 
that   in  your  effort    to   work    out  the   great   and    intricate 


I-M  JOHN   D.-iriS   LONG 

jirol,)lcm  which  (i«ul  h;is  hiiil  at  the  doors  of  the  South  you 
shall  have  at  all  times  the  jiatieiit,  sympathetic  help  of  my 
race;  only  let  this  be  constantly  m  mind:  that,  while  from 
representations  in  these  buildings  of  the  product  of  field,  of 
lorest,  of  mine,  of  factory,  of  letters  and  art,  much  good  will 
cjme,  yet  far  above  and  beyond  material  benefits  will  be  that 
liigher  good  which,  let  us  pray  God,  will  come  in  a  blotting 
out  of  sectional  differences  and  racial  animosities  and  sus- 
picions, in  a  determination  to  administer  absolute  justice,  in 
a  willing  obedience  among  all  classes  to  the  mandates  of 
law.  This,  this,  coupled  with  our  material  prosperity,  will 
bring  into  our  beloved  South  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth. 

THE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF   THE    SPANISH    WAR 

By  John  Davis  Long,  Lawyer,  Author;  Governor  of  Massachusetts, 
1880-82;  Member  of  Congress  from  Massachusetts,  1882-88;  Secretary 
of  the  Navy,  1897 — .     Born  in  Buckfield,  Maine. 

From  a  speech  made  at  a  dinner  of  the  Republican  Club  of  Massachusetts,  October 
26,  1898.     See  Boston  Herald  ^tiA  Journal,  Oct.  27,  18  j8. 

I  cannot  stand  in  this  generous  presence  and  not  be 
keenly  alive  to  the  fact  that  it  emphasizes,  not  the  kindness 
of  personal  friendship,  not  even  the  spirit  of  partisan  zeal, 
but  the  warm,  enthusiastic  pride  of  the  American  citizen  in 
the  administration  of  the  American  government ;  pride  in  his 
country,  and  pride  especially,  I  am  sure,  from  your  welcome 
to-night  to  me,  in  the  glory  of  the  American  navy.  Were 
there  ever  such  pages  as  that  navy  has  written,  not  in  water, 
but  in  letters  of  light  on  the  firmament  of  history  }  Why 
should  I  speak  for  it,  when  the  navy  speaks  for  itself .' 

Is  it  not  enough  to  say  that  it  has  maintained  the  glorious 
standard  to  which  it  rose  in  the  War  of  the  American  Revolu- 
tion, and  in  the  War  of  181  2,  and  in  the  War  for  the  Union  'i 
Its  achievements  during  the  last  six  months  have  been  one 
blaze  of  unprecedented  triumph.  Not  only  the  triumph  of 
battle,  but  the  finer  triumph  of  the  highest  professional  skill, 
of  scientific  achievement,  and  of  that  preparation  and  fore- 


THE  SIGNIFIC/INCII   OF    THE  SPANISH    IV A R         125 

sight  which  makes  the  public  service  eflicient,  accurate,  and 
successful.  It  has  added  new  names  to  the  already  glitter- 
ing constellation  of  heroic  stars. 

The  marvelous  victories  at  Manila  and  Santiago,  where 
Dewey  and  Sampson  only  led  a  list  which  runs  without  a  break 
in  its  merit  from  the  admiral  to  the  humblest  sailor  and 
marine,  have  made  the  naval  power  of  the  United  States 
master  of  the  sea. 

Of  its  professional  spirit  I  cannot  speak  too  highly.  That 
spirit  animated  the  officer  on  the  deck,  the  commandant  at 
the  yard,  the  chief  in  the  bureau,  and  no  less  the  grades, 
every  one  of  them,  below  these.  Line  and  staff,  superior 
and  subordinate,  have  all  worked  with  matchless  fidelity  and 
ability,  and  in  harmonious  co-operation,  and  deserve  equal 
honor. 

When  Hobson  tendered  his  life  on  the  forlorn  hope  of  the 
IMerrimac,  the  decks  of  the  ships  at  Santiago  were  crowded 
with  heroes,  whose  names  arc  written  in  water,  but  who  were 
eager  to  give  their  own  lives  to  win  the  same  high  meed  of 
praise  and  to  do  the  same  noble  service  for  their  country. 

The  glory  of  the  navy,  and  the  glory  of  the  war  which  it 
shares  with  the  army,  is  not,  however,  in  battle  alone;  or, 
rather,  it  is  not  in  the  brutal  elements  of  battle.  It  is  rather 
in  the  fine  instinct,  the  heroic  courage,  the  splendid  devo- 
tion, the  intense  patriotism  which  nerve  men  to  endure  what 
otherwise  were  the  unpardonable  horrors  of  armed  conflict, 
for  the  sake  of  the  great  ends  and  causes  for  which  battles 
are  fought.  The  war  through  which  we  have  just  passed  was 
not  waged  for  the  exultation  of  victory.  It  was  for  the  un- 
loosing of  the  yoke  of  bondage,  the  elevation  of  an  oppressed 
people,  the  diviner  civilization  of  the  coming  century.  Its 
finer  touches  were  more  in  the  generous  humanity  it  aroused 
than  in  the  splendid  courage  it  evoked. 

Not  a  trace  of  personal  animosity  toward  the  foe  was 
visible  from  beginning  to  end.  Few  words  will  last  longer 
than  those  which  Captain  Evans  uttered  when  he  said  of  his 


i:j6  johs  n.-fris  long 

tm-n  ilurini::  tli<-^  battle  of  Santiaj^o  that  "  So  long  as  the 
oiicmv  flew  its  flag  tlicv  fought  hke  American  seamen,  luit 
wlien  the  Hag  was  hauKd  liown  they  were  as  gentle  and 
tender  as  American  women."  It  was  a  revelation  to  the 
Spanish  prisoners  wlien  they  fount!  themselves  received  with 
(."hristian  kindness  in  an  encampment  rather  tlian  a  jirison 
at  Portsnioutli ;  their  wounds  bound  up  and  every  want 
provided  for. 

The  lesson  has  not  been  lost  t)n  the  civilization  of  the 
time  when  Cervera,  returning  to  his  seat  in  the  Spanish 
Senate,  proclaims  the  humanity  of  America,  and  suggests  to 
Spain  that  she  benefit  by  our  exampie,  waken  from  her 
bondage  to  old  limitations,  and  follow  the  lead  of  American 
enterprise  and  American  institutions.    .   .    . 

I  stood  a  few  days  ago  on  the  portico  of  the  executive 
mansion.  I  recalled  that  in  my  youth  1  there  met  President 
Lincoln  as  he  came  out  of  the  White  House  door.  We  were 
alone.  Had  I  then  lost,  as  I  have  since  lost,  the  awe  which 
a  young  man  feels  on  meeting  a  great  one,  I  should  have 
presumed  to  speak  to  him;  and,  perhaps,  one  of  the  saddest 
faces  on  which  I  ever  looked  might  have  been  touched,  in 
the  passing  greeting,  with  that  kindly  smile  and  lighting  of 
the  eyes  which  sometimes  transformed  it  into  beauty. 

The  burden  of  the  great  war  was  then  upon  his  gaunt 
frame.  He  had  emancipated  the  slave,  but  the  war  was  not 
over.  The  freedom  of  a  race,  the  issue  of  equal  rights  for 
all  men,  high  or  low,  black  or  white,  was  still  trembling  in 
the  balance. 

A  few  days  ago  I  stood  with  President  McKinley  on  the 
same  portico.  We  were  not  alone.  Every  foot  of  space, 
the  railings,  the  grounds,  were  filled  with  a  crowd  of  eager, 
interested  people,  men  and  women  and  children,  waiting  the 
march  of  the  loth  regular  cavalry,  colored  troops,  who  soon 
came  passing  in  review.  They  were  dismounted  and  march- 
ing in  column.  They  were  the  heroes  of  the  recent  war. 
They  had  saved  the  brave  Roosevelt  and  his  Rough  Riders. 


KNEE -DEEP   IN  JUNE  1 27 

They  had  stormed  and  swept  the  hill  of  San  Juan.  They 
had  ranked  themselves  with  the  bravest  of  the  brave. 

Their  uniforms  showed  service,  but  it  was  the  uniform  of 
the  United  States  soldier.  They  swept  by  with  easy,  swing- 
ing step.  With  heads  erect  and  flashing  eyes  and  kindling 
faces,  bearing  in  their  dusky  hands  the  torn  colors  of  their 
regiment,  they  passed  in  review,  and  the  President  of  the 
United  States  bared  his  head  in  token  of  respect. 

There  and  then  I  saw  the  consummation  of  Lincoln's 
work.  ^layhap  he,  too,  looked  down  from  the  portico  of  a 
mansion  eternal  in  the  heavens.  The  issue  which  trembled 
in  his  great  hand  is  settled;  the  slave  is  free;  there  are  equal 
rights  for  all;  the  servile  distinction  of  color  is  gone.  The 
black  man  is  the  American  soldier  and  the  American  citizen. 
There  is  no  avenue  of  business  life  in  which  he  does  not 
walk;  no  profession  of  which  he  is  not  a  member;  no  school 
of  learning  or  of  athletics  in  which  he  does  not  rank;  and, 
on  the  platform,  one  of  his  race  is  to-day  the  best  orator  in 
America. 

KNEE-DEEP   IN  JUNE 

By  James  Whitcomb  Riley,  Poet,  Story-writer.     Born  at  Greenfield, 
Indiana,  1853. 

Taken  from  "  Afterwhiles,"  by  James  Whitcomb  Riley,  copyright,  1887.      Used  by 
permission  of  the  publishers,  The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis,  Ind  ,  U.S.A. 

Tell  you  what  I  like  the  best — 
'Long  about  knee-deep  in  June, 

'Bout  the  time  strawberries  melts 
On  the  vine, — some  afternoon 
Like  to  jes'  git  out  and  rest. 

And  not  work  at  nothin'  else! 

Orchard's  where  I'd  ruther  be — 
Needn't  fence  it  in  fer  me! 
Jes'  the  whole  sky  overhead, 

And  the  whole  airth  underneath — 


liS  J.^MIS    llfUrcOMIi   Kll.r.Y 

Sortt.)'  so  s  :i  iii.iii  km  lirc;itlic 
Like  he  ort,  ami  kindu'  has 
Elbow-room  to  kccrlcssly 

Sprawl  out  Icii'thways  on  the  grass 

Where  the  slnulders  thick  and  soft 
As  the  kivvers  on  the  bed 
.Mother  fixes  in  the  loft 
Alius,  when  they's  com])any! 

Jcs'  a-sorto'  lazin'  there — 
S'lazy,  'at  you  peek  and  peer 

Through  the  wavin'  leaves  above, 
Like  a  feller  'at's  in  love 
And  don't  know  it,  ner  don't  keer! 
Ever'thing  you  hear  and  see 
Got  some  sort  o'  interest — 
Maybe  find  a  bluebird's  nest 
Tucked  up  there  conveenently 
Eer  the  boy  'at's  apt  to  be 
Up  some  other  apple-tree  1 
Watch  the  swallers  skootin'  past 
'Bout  as  peert  as  you  could  ast; 
Er  the  Bob-white  raise  and  whiz 
Where  some  other's  whistle  is. 

Ketch  a  shadder  down  below, 
And  look  up  to  find  the  crow — 
Er  a  hawk, — away  up  there, 
'Pearantlyy>-o0^  in  the  air!  — 

Hear  the  old  hen  squawk,  and  squat 
Over  ever'  chick  she's  got, 
Suddent-like! — And  she  knows  where 
That-air  hawk  is,  well  as  you! — 
You  jes'  bet  yer  life  she  do! — 
Eyes  a-glitterin'  like  glass, 
Waitin'  till  he  makes  a  pass! 


KNEE-DEEP  IN  JUNE  i-9 

Pee-wees'  singin',  to  express 

My  opinion,  's  second  class, 
Yit  you'll  hear  'em  more  er  less; 
Sapsucks  gittin'  down  to  biz, 
Weedin'  out  the  lonesomeness; 
Mr.  Bluejay,  full  o'  sass, 

In  them  base-ball  clothes  o'  his, 
Sportin'  'round  the  orchard  jes' 
Like  he  owned  the  premises ! 

Sun  out  in  the  fields  kin  sizz, 
But  flat  on  yer  back,  I  guess, 
In  the  shade's  where  glory  is! 
That's  jes'  what  I'd  like  to  do 
Stiddy  fer  a  year  er  two ! 

Plague!  ef  they  ain't  somepin'  in 
Work  'at  kindo'  goes  ag'in' 
My  convictions! — 'long  about 
Here  in  June  especially! — • 
Under  some  old  apple-tree, 
Jes'  a-restin'  through  and  through, 
I  could  git  along  without 
Nothin'  else  at  all  to  do 
Only  jes'  a-wishin'  you 
Was  a-gittin'  there  like  me, 
And  June  was  eternity! 

Lay  out  there  and  try  to  see 
Jes'  how  lazy  you  kin  be! — 

Tumble  round  and  souse  yer  head 
In  the  clover-bloom,  er  pull 

Yer  straw  hat  acrost  yer  eyes, 

And  peek  through  it  at  the  skies, 
Thinkin'  of  old  chums  'at's  dead, 

Maybe,  smilin'  back  at  you 
In  betwixt  the  beautiful 

Clouds  o'  gold  and  white  and  blue! — 


ijo  JOHN   Mri.U'N    THCRSTON 

Month  a  iiinn  kin  r.iillv  hnc — 
]inu',  you  kn(-)\v,   I'm  talkin'  of! 

March  aint  never  notliin'  luw ! 
Aprile's  altogether  too 

Brash  fer  me!   and  May — I  jes' 

'Homiiiate  its  promises, — 
Little  hints  o'  sunshine  and 
Green  around  tlie  timber-land — 

A  few  blossoms,  and  a  few 

Chip-birds,  and  a  sprout  er  two — 
Drap  asleep,  and  it  turns  in 
'Fore  daylijjht  and  snores  ag'in!  — 

But  when  /«;7t'  comes— Clear  my  th'oat 

With  wiltl  honey! — Rench  my  hair 
In  the  dew!   ant!  hold  my  coat! 

Whoop  out  loud!   and  th'ow  my  hat! — 
June  wants  me,  and  I'm  to  spare! 
Spread  them  shadders  anywhere, 
I'll  git  down  and  waller  there. 
And  obleeged  to  you  at  that ! 

LINCOLN:   A   MAN    CALLED   OF   GOD 

By  John  Mellen  Thurston,  Lawyer;  Senator  from  Nebraska,  1895 — . 
Born  at  Montpelier,  Vt.,  1847. 
Extract  from  an  address  before  the  Chicago  Lincoln  Association,  February  12,  1891. 

God's  providence  has  raised  up  a  leader  in  ever}'  time  of  a 
people's  exceeding  need. 

INIoses,  reared  in  the  family  of  Pharaoh,  initiated  in  the 
sublime  mysteries  of  the  priestcraft  of  Egypt,  partaking  of 
the  power  and  splendor  of  royal  family  and  favor,  himself  a 
ruler  and  almost  a  king,  was  so  moved  by  the  degraded  and 
helpless  condition  of  his  enslaved  brethren  tliat  for  their  sake 
he  undertook  what  to  human  understanding  seemed  the  im- 
possible problem  of  deliverance.    .    .    . 


LINCOLN:  A   MAN   CALLED   OF  GOD  131 

A  peasant  girl,  a  shepherdess,  dreaming  on  the  hills  of 
France,  feels  her  simple  heart  burn  with  the  story  of  her 
country's  wrongs.  Its  army  beaten,  shattered  and  dispersed ; 
its  fields  laid  waste;  its  homes  pillaged  and  burned;  its 
people  outraged  and  murdered;  its  prince  fleeing  for  life 
before  a  triumphant  and  remorseless  foe.  Hope  for  France 
was  dead.  Heroes,  there  were  none  to  save.  What  could 
a  woman  do  .' 

Into  the  soul  of  this  timid,  unlettered  mountain  maid 
there  swept  a  flood  of  glorious  resolve.  Some  power, 
unknown  to  man,  drew  back  the  curtain  from  the  glass  of 
fate  and  bade  her  look  therein.  As  in  a  vision,  she  sees  a 
new  French  army,  courageous,  hopeful,  victorious,  invinci- 
ble. A  girl,  sword  in  hand,  rides  at  its  head;  before  it  the 
invaders  flee.  She  sees  France  restored,  her  fields  in  bloom, 
her  cottages  in  peace,  her  people  happy,  her  prince  crowned. 

The  rail-splitter  of  Illinois  became  President  of  the  United 
States  in  the  darkest  hour  of  the  nation's  peril.  Inexperi- 
enced and  untrained  in  governmental  affairs,  he  formulated 
national  politics,  overruled  statesmen,  directed  armies, 
removed  generals,  and,  when  it  became  necessary  to  save  the 
Republic,  set  at  naught  the  written  Constitution.  He 
amazed  the  politicians  and  offended  the  leaders  of  his  party; 
but  the  people  loved  him  by  instinct,  and  followed  him 
blindly.  The  child  leads  the  blind  man  through  dangerous 
places,  not  by  reason  of  controlling  strength  and  intelligence, 
but  by  certainty  of  vision.  Abraham  Lincoln  led  the  nation 
along  its  obscure  pathway,  for  his  vision  was  above  the 
clouds,  and  he  stood  in  the  clear  sunshine  of  God's  indi- 
cated will. 

So  stands  the  mountain  while  the  murky  shadows  thicken 
at  its  base,  beset  by  the  tempest,  lashed  by  the  storm,  dark- 
ness and  desolation  on  every  side;  no  gleam  of  hope  in  the 
lightning's  lurid  lances,  nor  voice  of  safety  in  the  crashing 
thunder-bolts;  but  high  above  the  topmost  mist,  vexed  by 
no  wave  of  angry  sound,  kissed  by  the  sun  of  day,  wooed 


>32  JOH?^   MFI. I.F.N    THURSTON 

l>y  tlic  stars  of  night,  the  eternal  suniinit  lifts  its  snowy  crest, 
crowned  with  the  infinite  serenity  of  peace. 

*'  And  God  said — let  there  be  light,  and  there  was  light." 
Light  on  the  ocean,  light  on  the  land. 

"  And  God  said — k-t  there  be  light,  and  there  was  light." 
Light  from  the  cross  of  calvary,  light  from  the  souls  of  men. 

"  And  God  said — let  there  be  light,  and  tlu-re  was  light." 
Light  from  tlie  emancipation  proclamation,  light  on  the 
honor  of  the  nation,  light  on  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States,  light  on  the  black  faces  of  patient  bondmen,  light  on 
every  standard  of  freedom  throughout  the  world. 

From  the  hour  in  which  the  cause  of  the  Union  became 
the  cause  of  liberty,  from  the  hour  in  which  the  flag  of  the 
Republic  became  the  flag  of  humanity,  from  the  hour  in 
which  the  stars  and  stripes  no  longer  floated  over  a  slave; 
yea,  from  the  sacred  hour  of  the  nation's  new  birth,  that 
dear  old  banner  never  faded  from  the  sky,  and  the  brave 
boys  who  bore  it  never  wavered  in  their  onward  march  to 
victory.    .    .    . 

After  a  quarter  of  a  century  of  peace  and  prosperity,  all 
children  of  our  common  country  kneel  at  the  altar  of  a 
reunited  faith.  The  blue  and  gray  lie  in  eternal  slumber 
side  by  side.  Heroes  all,  they  fell  face  to  face,  brother 
against  brother,  to  expiate  a  nation's  sin.  The  lonely  fire- 
sides and  the  unknown  graves,  the  memory  of  the  loved, 
the  yearning  for  the  lost,  the  desolated  altars  and  the  broken 
hopes,  are  past  recall.  The  wings  of  our  weak  protest  beat 
in  vain  against  the  iron  doors  of  fate.  But  through  the 
mingled  tears  that  fall  alike  upon  the  honored  dead  of  both, 
the  North  and  South  turn  hopeful  eyes  to  that  new  future  of 
prosperity  and  power,  possible  only  in  the  shelter  of  the  dear 
old  flag.  To  the  conquerors  and  the  conquered,  to  the 
white  man  and  the  black,  to  the  master  and  the  slave, 
Abraham  Lincoln  was  God's  providence. 


THE    TRUE    IV A R   SPIRIT  133 


THE  TRUE   WAR   SPIRIT 

By  George  Frisbie  Hoar,  Lawyer;  Member  of  Congress  from  Massa- 
chusetts, 1868-76;  Senator,  1877 — .      Born  in  Concord,  Mass.,  1826. 

From  a  speech  delivered  in  the  United  States  Senate,  April  14,  1898. 

Mr.  President,  I  regret,  speaking  for  myself,  that  any 
Senator  feels  it  to  be  his  duty  to  indulge  in  harsh  criticism 
of  the  President  of  the  United  States,  Do  gentlemen,  -when 
they  criticise  this  brave  American  soldier's  love  of  peace — 
and  every  brave  American  soldier  from  the  beginning  of  our 
history  has  been  a  lover  of  peace — reflect  what  war  is  and 
who  it  is  that  suffers  by  it  ?  The  persons  who  suffer  by 
modern  wars  are  not  the  men  who  provoke  them  or  the  men 
who  are  guilty  of  the  causes  to  which  they  owe  their  origin. 
Every  modern  war  is  an  additional  burden  on  the  poor  man, 
the  laboring  man,  the  plain  man,  while  the  glory  is  reaped 
by  a  few  officers  and  the  profits  by  a  few  stock  jobbers  and 
contractors. 

It  is  not  even  the  guilty  Spaniard  who  is  primarily  to  suffer 
by  the  terrible  punishment  which  we  are  expected  to  inflict 
upon  Spain.  It  is  not  the  Weylers  or  even  the  Sagastas  or 
the  Blancos.  It  is  the  poor  peasant  whose  first-born  is  to 
be  drafted  into  the  military  service,  never  to  return  or  to 
return  a  wreck.  It  is  the  widow  whose  stay  is  to  be  taken 
from  her,  who  is  to  get  no  share  of  the  glory,  but  only  the 
full  of  the  suffering.  This  war,  if  it  be  to  come  upon  us,  is 
to  add  a  new  and  terrible  burden,  even  if  it  be  confined 
within  the  limits  to  which  we  hope  it  may  be  confined,  to 
the  already  overburdened  and  suffering  peasantry  of  Europe. 
The  results  of  a  great  war  are  due  to  the  policy  of  the  king 
and  the  noble  and  the  tyrant,  not  the  policy  of  the  people. 

Every  child  upon  the  continent  of  Europe  to-day  was 
born  with  a  mortgage  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  about 
his  little  neck  and  an  armed  soldier  riding  upon  his  back. 
So  while  I  agree,  as  will  be  seen  before  1  finish,  that  war  may 


i.u  GHOKcr  /Rismr  /vo-z/e 

be  iKccssary.  aiul  it  may  hi'  necessary  now,  yet  I  cannot 
myself  agree  with  my  honorable  friend,  the  Senator  from 
Mississippi,  wlicn  he  said  so  lightly  that  he  thougiit  it  was  a 
good  plan  to  have  a  war  once  in  a  while,  that  it  prevented 
the  dry  rot  of  prolonged  peace.  A  nation  is  made  up  of 
human  homes,  and  the  glory  of  a  nation  and  the  value  of  its 
possessions  are  in  its  liumble  h<-)mes,  I  ilo  not  agree  witli 
the  Senator  who  thinks  that  a  home  is  made  better  by  the 
loss  of  its  boys  or  the  crippling  for  life  of  its  head. 

I  do  not  like  what  follows  war.  1  do  not  like  the  i)iling 
up  in  this  country  of  thousands  ujjon  thousands  of  millions 
more  of  our  public  debt.  I  have  not  read  history  like  the 
Senator  from  Mississippi  in  a  way  to  lead  mc  to  think  that 
war  is  ever  a  purifying  process.  The  seasons  which  follow 
great  wars,  either  in  this  countrj'  or  elsewhere,  are  times  of 
debts  and  jobs  and  disordered  currency  and  popular  discon- 
tent. The  periods  that  have  followed  the  great  wars  are  the 
worst  periods  in  history.  If  we  enter  upon  this  war,  we  are 
to  subject  our  ships  to  many  disasters  like  that  of  the  Maitte 
and  our  soldiers  to  pestilence  and  yellow  fever.  The 
destruction  in  the  soldier  who  survives  of  the  capacity  for 
the  rest  of  his  life  for  the  works  of  peace  is  a  not  insignificant 
result  even  of  the  best  and  most  necessary  war,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  increase  of  the  debt  and  of  the  pension 
list.    .   .   . 

Mr.  President,  I  expect  to  vote  for  tlie  House  resolutions, 
imless  I  should  have  an  opportunity  to  vote  for  the  resolu- 
tion of  the  honorable  .Senator  from  Colorado.  That  leads  to 
war.  There  is  no  doubt  about  it.  It  will  lead  to  the  most 
honorable  single  war  in  all  history,  unless  we  except  wars 
entered  upon  by  brave  people  in  the  assertion  of  their  own 
liberty.  It  leads  to  war.  It  is  a  war  in  which  there  does 
not  enter  the  slightest  thought  or  desire  of  foreign  conquest 
or  of  national  gain  or  advantage. 

I  have  not  heard  throughout  this  whole  discussion  in 
Senate  or  House  an  expression  of  a  desire  to  subjugate  and 


THE    TRUE    IVAR-SPIRIT  135 

occupy  Cuba  for  the  purposes  of  our  own  country.  There 
is  nothing-  of  that  kind  suggested.  It  is  disclaimed  by  the 
President,  disclaimed  by  the  committee,  disclaimed  by 
everybody,  so  far  as  I  am  aware.  It  is  entered  into  for  the 
single  and  sole  reason  that  three  or  four  hundred  thousand 
human  beings,  within  ninety  miles  of  our  shores,  have  been 
subjected  to  the  policy  intended,  or  at  any  rate  having  the 
effect,  deliberately  to  starve  them  to  death — men,  women, 
and  children,  old  men,  mothers,  and  infants. 

If  there  have  been  any  hasty  or  unwise  utterances  of  im- 
patience in  such  a  cause  as  that,  and  I  think  there  have 
been,  they  have  been  honest,  brave,  humane  utterances.  But 
when  I  enter  upon  this  war,  I  want  to  enter  upon  it  with  a 
united  American  people — President  and  Senate  and  House, 
and  Navy  and  Army,  and  Democrat  and  Republican,  all 
joining  hands  and  all  marching  one  way,  I  want  to  enter 
upon  it  with  the  sanction  of  international  law,  with  the 
sympathy  of  all  humane  and  liberty-loving  nations,  with  the 
approval  of  our  own  consciences,  and  with  a  certainty  of  the 
applauding  judgment  of  history. 

I  confess  I  do  not  like  to  think  of  the  genius  of  America 
angry,  snarling,  shouting,  screaming,  kicking,  clawing  with 
her  nails.  I  like  rather  to  think  of  her  in  her  august  and 
serene  beauty,  inspired  by  a  sentiment  even  toward  her 
enemies  not  of  hate,  but  of  love,  perhaps  a  little  pale  in  the 
cheek  and  a  dangerous  light  in  her  eye,  but  with  a  smile  on 
her  lips,  as  sure,  determined,  unerring,  invincible  as  was  the 
Archangel  Michael  when  he  struck  down  and  trampled  upon 
the  Demon  of  Darkness. 


GHORGi:   llll.l.l.-tM   CURTIS 


CHARLF.S    SUMNER 


Hv  ("iKORr.F.  Wii.i.iANt  Ci'Rris.  Autlior.  Or.itnr,  Lecturer,    Editor.     Horn 
ill  rnividencp,  K.  1.,  1X^4;  ilictl  at  Stuteii  Island,  N.  Y.,  i8q2. 

From  a  eulouy  on  Ch.irles  Sumner  delivered  before  the  Legislature  of  M,i!!sacliusetts 
in  Music  II.ill,  Hoston,  Junecj,  1874.  Taken,  by  permission  of  the  publishers,  from 
"Orations  and  Addresses  of  George  William  Curtis."  Copyright  1894,  by  llarjieriS: 
Brothers,  New  York. 

The  anti-slavcry  contest  had  closed  many  a  door  ami 
many  a  heart  against  Charles  Sumner.  It  had  exposed  him 
to  the  sneer,  the  hate,  the  ridicule,  of  opposition;  it  iiad 
threatened  his  life  and  assailed  his  person.  But  the  great 
issue  was  clearly  drawn;  his  whole  being  was  stirred  to  its 
depths;  he  was  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  the  pride  of  strength; 
history  anil  reason,  the  human  heart  and  the  human  con- 
science, were  his  immortal  allies;  and  around  him  w^ere  the 
vast,  increasing  hosts  of  liberty;  the  men  whose  counsels  he 
approved;  the  friends  of  his  heart;  the  multitude  that 
thought  him  only  too  eager  for  unquestionable  riglit ;  the. 
prayer  of  free  men  and  women,  sustaining,  inspiring,  blessing 
him.  But  here  was  another  scene,  a  far  fiercer  trial.  His 
old  companions  in  the  Free-soil  days,  the  great  abolition 
leaders,  most  of  his  warmest  personal  friends,  the  great  body 
of  the  party  whom  his  words  had  inspired,  looked  at  him 
with  sorrowful  surprise.  Ah!  no  one  who  did  not  know 
that  proud  and  tender  heart,  trusting,  simple,  almost 
credulous  as  that  of  a  boy,  could  know  how  sore  the  trial 
was.  He  stood,  among  his  oldest  friends,  virtually  alone; 
with  inexpressible  pain  they  parted,  each  to  his  own  duty. 
"Are  you  willing,  '  I  said  to  him  one  day,  when  he  had 
passionately  implored  me  to  agree  with  him — and  I  should 
have  been  unworthy  his  friendship  had  I  been  silent — "is 
Charles  Sumner  willing  at  this  time,  and  in  the  circumstances 
of  to-day,  to  intrust  the  colored  race  in  this  country  with  all 
their  rights,  their  liberty  newly  won  and  yet  flexile  antl 
;iascent,    to   a  party,  however  fair  it  professes,  which  com- 


CHARLHS  SUMNER  137 

prises  all  who  have  hated  and  despised  the  negro  ?  The 
slave  of  yesterday  in  Alabama,  in  Carolina,  in  Mississippi, 
will  his  heart  leap  with  joy  or  droop  dismayed  when  he 
knows  that  Charles  Sumner  has  given  his  great  name  as  a 
club  to  smite  the  party  that  gave  him  and  his  children  their 
liberty  ?  "  The  tears  started  to  his  eyes,  that  good  gray  head 
bowed  down,  but  he  answered,  sadly,  "  I  must  do  my 
duty.  "  And  he  did  it.  He  saw  the  proud,  triumphant  party 
that  he  had  led  so  often — men  and  women  whom  his  heart 
loved,  the  trusted  friends  of  a  life,  the  sympathy  and  confi- 
dence and  admiration  upon  which,  on  his  great  days  and  after 
his  resounding  words,  he  had  been  joyfully  accustomed  to 
lean — he  saw  all  these  depart,  and  he  turned  to  go  alone  and 
do  his  duty. 

Living  how  Sumner  served  us  and  dying,  at  this  moment 
how  he  serves  us  still.  In  a  time  when  politics  seem 
peculiarly  mean  and  selfish  and  corrupt,  when  there  is  a 
general  vague  apprehension  that  the  very  moral  foundations 
of  the  national  character  are  loosened,  when  good  men  are 
painfully  anxious  to  know  whether  the  heart  of  the  people  is 
hardened,  Charles  Sumner  dies;  and  the  universality  and 
sincerity  of  sorrow,  such  as  the  death  of  no  man  left  living 
among  us  could  awaken,  show  how  true,  how  sound,  how 
generous,  is  still  the  heart  of  the  American  people.  This  is 
the  dying  service  of  Charles  Sumner,  a  revelation  which 
inspires  every  American  to  bind  his  shining  example  as  a 
frontlet  between  the  eyes,  and  never  again  to  despair  of  the 
higher  and  more  glorious  destiny  of  his  country. 

And  of  that  destiny  what  a  foreshowing  was  he!  In  that 
beautiful  home  at  the  sunny  and  leafy  corner  of  the  national 
city,  where  he  lived  among  books  and  pictures  and  noble 
friendships  and  lofty  thoughts  .  .  .  how  the  stately  and 
gracious  and  all-accomplished  man  seemed  the  very  personifi- 
cation of  that  new  union  for  which  he  had  so  manfully 
striven,  and  whose  coming  his  dying  eyes  beheld — -the  union 
of  ever  wider  liberty  and  juster  law,  the  America  of  compre- 


i;>s  joH\  toii-\'si:nd  /roh  HKincn 

hensive  intelligence  anil  of  nuirai  power!  For  that  lie 
stands;  up  to  that  his  imperishable  memory,  like  the  words 
of  his  living  lips,  forever  lifts  us  —  lifts  us  to  his  own  great 
faith  in  America  and  in  man.  Suddenly  from  his  strong 
hand — mv  father,  my  father,  the  chariot  of  Israel,  and  the 
horsemen  thereof! — the  banner  falls.  Be  it  ours  to  grasp  it. 
ami  carrv  it  still  forward,  still  higher!  ( )ur  work,  is  not  his 
work,  but  it  can  be  well  done  only  in  his  si)irit.  And  as,  in 
the  heroic  legend  of  your  Western  valley,  the  men  of  lladley, 
faltering  in  the  fierce  shock  of  Indian  battle,  suddenly  saw 
at  their  head  the  lofty  form  of  an  unknown  captain,  with 
white  hair  streaming  on  the  wind,  by  his  triumphant  mien 
strengthening  their  hearts  and  leading  them  to  victory,  so, 
men  and  women  of  Massachusetts,  of  America,  if  in  that 
national  conflict  already  begun,  as  vast  and  vital  as  the 
struggle  of  his  life,  the  contest  which  is  beyond  that  of  any 
partv  or  policy  or  measure — the  contest  for  conscience,  in- 
telligence, and  morality  as  the  supreme  power  in  our  j)olitics 
and  the  sole  salvation  of  America — you  should  falter  or  fail, 
suddenly  your  hearts  shall  see  once  more  the  towering  form, 
shall  hear  again  the  inspiring  voice,  shall  be  exalted  with  the 
moral  energy  and  faith  of  Charles  Sumner,  and  the  victories 
of  his  immortal  example  shall  transcend  the  triumphs  of  his 
life. 

THE   VAGABONDS 

By  John   Townsend   Trowbridge,    Editor,  Author,   Poet.     Born   in 
Ogden,  X.  Y.,  1827;  living  in  Arlington,  Mass. 

We  are  two  travelers,  Roger  and  I. 

Roger's  my  dog. — Come  here,  you  scamp. 
Jump  for  the  gentleman, — mind  your  eye! 

Over  the  table, — look  out  for  the  lamp! — 
The  rogue  is  growing  a  little  old; 

Five  years  we've  tramped  through  wind  and  weather. 
And  slept  out  doors  when  nights  were  cold. 

And  ate  and  drank — and  starved — together. 


THE    yAGABONDS  139 

We've  learned  what  comfort  is,  I  tell  you ! 

A  bed  on  the  floor,  a  bit  of  rosin, 
A  fire  to  thaw  our  thumbs  (poor  fellow, 

The  paw  he  holds  up  there  has  been  frozen). 
Plenty  of  catgut  for  my  fiddle 

(This  out-door  business  is  bad  for  strings). 
Then  a  few  nice  buckwheats  hot  from  the  griodle, 

And  Roger  and  I  set  up  for  kings ! 

No,  thank  you,  Sir, — I  never  drink; 

Roger  and  I  are  exceedingly  moral, — 
Aren't  we,  Roger? — see  him  wink! — 

Well,  something  hot,  then,  we  won't  quanel. 
He's  thirsty,  too — see  him  nod  his  head  ? 

What  a  pity.  Sir,  that  dogs  can't  talk — 
He  understands  every  word  that's  said, — 

And  he  knows  good  milk  from  water  and  chalk. 

The  truth  is.  Sir,  now  I  reflect, 

I've  been  so  sadly  given  to  grog, 
I  wonder  I've  not  lost  the  respect 

(Here's  to  you.  Sir!)  even  of  my  dog. 
But  he  sticks  by,  through  thick  and  thin; 

And  this  old  coat  with  its  empty  pockets, 
And  rags  that  smell  of  tobacco  and  gin. 

He'll  follow  while  he  has  eyes  in  his  sockets. 

There  isn't  another  creature  living 

Would  do  it,  and  prove,  through  every  disaster, 
So  fond,  so  faithful,  and  so  forgiving. 

To  such  a  miserable  thankless  master! 
No,  Sir! — see  him  wag  his  tail  and  grin! 

By  George!  it  makes  my  old  eyes  water! 
That  is,  there's  something  in  this  gin 

That  chokes  a  fellow.      But  no  matter  1 


t  »o  /()//.V    /•(1//<V.S7:",V/)    TROU  HRlin;/: 

\\  I-  11  liavi  soino  imisic,  if  you  an-  willing, 

And  Roger  (Ikiu  !   wliat  a  plague  a  cough  is,  Sir!) 
Shall  march  a  little. — Start,  you  villain! 

Stand  straight!      "Bout  face!      Salute  your  olVicer! 
Put  up  that  paw!      Dress!     Take  your  rille! 

(Some  dogs  have  arms,  you  see!)      Now  hold 
\'our  cap  wliile  tlie  gentlemen  give  a  tritle 

To  aid  a  poor  old  patriot  soldier. 

March!     Halt!     Now  show  how  the  rebel  shakes 

When  he  stands  up  to  hear  his  sentence. 
Now  tell  how  many  drams  it  takes 

To  honor  a  jolly  new  acquaintance. 
Five  yelps,  that's  five;  he's  mighty  knowing! 

The  night's  before  us,  fill  the  glasses! 
Quick,  Sir!    I'm  ill, — my  brain  is  going; 

Some  brandy, — thank  you;  there, — it  passes! 

Wiiy  not  reform  .''     That's  easily  said; 

But  I've  gone  through  such  wretched  treatment, 
Sometimes  forgetting  the  taste  of  bread. 

And  scarce  remembering  what  meat  meant, 
That  my  poor  stomach's  past  reform; 

And  there  are  times  when,  mad  with  thinking, 
I'd  sell  out  heaven  for  something  warm 

To  prop  a  horrible  inward  sinking. 

Is  there  a  way  to  forget  to  think  ? 

At  your  age,  Sir,  home,  fortune,  friends, 
A  dear  girl's  love, — but  I  took  to  drink; — 

The  same  old  story;  you  know  how  it  ends. 
If  you  could  have  seen  these  classic  features — 

You  needn't  laugh.  Sir;  they  were  not  then 
Such  a  burning  libel  on  God's  creatures: 

1  was  one  of  your  handsome  men ! 


THE    y AG A BONDS  141 

If  you  had  seen  her,  so  fair  and  young, 

Whose  head  was  happy  on  his  breast! 
If  you  could  have  heard  the  songs  I  sung 

When  the  wine  went  round,  you  wouldn't  have  guessed 
That  ever  I,  Sir,  should  be  straying 

From  door  to  door,  with  fiddle  and  dog, 
Ragged  and  penniless,  and  playing 

To  you  to-night  for  a  glass  of  grog! 

fihe's  married  since, — a  parson's  wife: 

'Twas  better  for  her  that  we  should  part, — 
Better  the  soberest,  prosiest  life 

Than  a  blasted  home  and  a  broken  heart. 
I  have  seen  her  ?     Once:   I  was  weak  and  spent 

On  the  dusty  road;   a  carriage  stopped: 
But  little  she  dreamed,  as  on  she  went. 

Who  kissed  the  coin  that  her  fingers  dropped! 

You've  set  me  talking.  Sir;   I'm  sorry; 

It  makes  me  wild  to  think  of  the  change! 
What  do  you  care  for  a  beggar's  story  ? 

Is  it  amusing  ?  you  find  it  strange  ? 
I  had  a  mother  so  proud  of  me! 

'Twas  well  she  died  before Do  you  know 

If  the  happy  spirits  in  heaven  can  see 

The  ruin  and  wretchedness  here  below  ? 

Another  glass,  and  strong,  to  deaden 

This  pain ;  then  Roger  and  I  will  start. 
I  wonder  has  he  such  a  lumpish,  leaden, 

Aching  thing,  in  place  of  a  heart  ? 
He  is  sad  sometimes,  and  would  weep,  if  he  could, 

No  doubt,  remembering  things  that  were, — 
A  virtuous  kennel,  with  plenty  of  food. 

And  himself  a  sober,  respectable  cur. 


'4-  JAMES    GIl.l.FSrir   m.AlNE 

I'm  better  now;   that  j^lass  was  wanning — 

Von  rascal  I   limber  your  lazy  (cell 
\Vc  must  bo  fkKlling  and  pcrforininj; 

For  supper  and  beil,  or  starve  in  the  street. — 
Not  a  very  gay  life  to  leatl,  you  think  ? 

lUit  soon  we  shall  go  where  lodgings  arc  free, 
And  the  sleepers  need  neither  victuals  nor  drink;-- 

The  sooner  the  better  for  Roger  and  me. 


THE   DEATH    OF   GARFIELD 

By  James  Gim.espie  Bi.aine,  Journalist,  Statesman.  Author;  Member 
of  Congress  from  Maine,  1863-76,  .Senator.  1876-81 ;  Secretary  of 
State,  i88i;  1S89-92.  Born  in  Washington  County,  Pennsylvania, 
1830;  died  in  Washington,  D.  C,  1893. 

From  a  memorial  oration  delivered  in  the  Hall  of  the  House  of  Representatives,  Feb. 
17,  1882.  Taken,  by  permission  ot  the  publishers,  from  "  Political  Discussions,"  by 
J.  G.  Blaine;  published  by  Henry  Bill  Publishing  Co.,  Norwich,  Conn. 

On  the  morning  of  Saturday,  July  second,  the  President 
was  a  contented  and  happy  man — not  in  an  ordinary  degree, 
but  joyfully,  almost  boyishly,  happy.  On  his  way  to  the 
railroad-station,  to  which  he  drove  slowly,  in  conscious  en- 
joyment of  the  beautiful  morning,  with  an  unwonted  sense 
of  leisure  and  a  keen  antici])ation  of  pleasure,  liis  talk  was 
all  in  the  grateful  and  gratulatory  vein.  He  felt  that  after 
four  months  of  trial  his  administration  was  strong  in  its  grasp 
of  affairs,  strong  in  popular  favor  and  destined  to  grow 
stronger;  that  grave  difficulties  confronting  him  at  his  in- 
auguration had  been  safely  passed;  that  trouble  lay  behind 
him,  and  not  before  him;  that  he  was  soon  to  meet  the  wife 
whom  he  loved,  now  recovering  from  an  illness  which  had 
but  lately  disquieted  and  at  times  almost  unnerved  him;  that 
he. was  going  to  his  alma  mater  to  renew  the  most  cherished 
associations  of  his  young  manhood,  and  to  exchange  greet- 
ings with  those  whose  deepening  interest  had  followed  every 
Step  of  his  upward  progress  from  the  day  he  entered  ujjon 


THE  DHATH   OF  GARFIELD  143 

his  college  course  until  he  had  attained  the  loftiest  elevation 
in  the  gift  of  his  countrymen. 

Surely,  if  happiness  can  ever  come  from  the  honors  or 
triumphs  of  this  world,  on  that  quiet  July  morning  James  A. 
Garfield  may  well  have  been  a  happy  man.  No  foreboding 
of  evil  haunted  him,  no  slightest  premonition  of  danger 
clouded  his  sky.  His  terrible  fate  was  upon  him  in  an 
instant.  One  moment  he  stood  erect,  strong,  confident  in 
the  years  stretching  peacefully  out  before  him.  The  next  he 
lay  wounded,  bleeding,  helpless,  doomed  to  weary  weeks  of 
torture,  to  silence  and  the  grave. 

Great  in  life,  he  was  surprisingly  great  in  death.  For  no 
cause,  in  the  very  frenzy  of  wantonness  and  wickedness,  by 
the  red  hand  of  Murder  he  was  thrust  from  the  full  tide  of 
this  world's  interest,  from  its  hopes,  its  aspirations,  its  vic- 
tories, into  the  visible  presence  of  death.  And  he  did  not 
quail.  Not  alone  for  the  one  short  moment  in  which, 
stunned  and  dazed,  he  could  give  up  life,  hardly  aware  of  its 
relinquishment,  but  through  days  of  deadly  languor,  through 
weeks  of  agony  that  was  not  less  agony  because  silently 
borne,  with  clear  sight  and  calm  courage  he  looked  into  his 
open  grave.  What  blight  and  ruin  met  his  anguished  eyes 
whose  lips  may  tell — what  brilliant  broken  plans,  what 
baffled  high  ambitions,  what  sundering  of  strong,  warm, 
manhood's  friendships,  what  bitter  rending  of  sweet  house- 
hold ties!  Behind  him  a  proud,  expectant  nation;  a  great 
host  of  sustaining  friends;  a  cherished  and  happy  mother 
wearing  the  full,  rich  honors  of  her  early  toil  and  tears;  the 
wife  of  his  youth,  whose  whole  life  lay  in  his;  the  little  boys 
not  yet  emerged  from  childhood's  day  of  frolic;  the  fair 
young  daughter;  the  sturdy  sons  just  springing  into  closest 
companionship,  claiming  every  day,  and  every  day  reward- 
ing, a  father's  love  and  care;  and  in  his  heart  the  eager, 
rejoicing  power  to  meet  all  demand.  Before  him,  desolation 
and  great  darkness!  And  his  soul  was  not  shaken.  His 
countrymen  were  thrilled  with  instant,  profound,  and   uni- 


1 44  jAMr.s  i.ii.i.i.srii:  imainf. 

vcrsal  sympathy.  .M.istcrtul  in  his  mortal  weakness,  he 
became  the  center  of  a  nation's  k)vc,  enslirined  in  the 
prayers  of  a  world.  lUit  all  the  love  anil  all  the  sympathy 
couUl  not  share  with  him  his  suffering.  Ik-  trod  the  wine- 
press ali>ne.  With  unfaltering  front  he  faced  death.  \N'ith 
unfailing  tenderness  he  took  leave  of  life.  Above  tlie 
ilemoniac  hiss  of  the  assassin's  bullet  he  heard  the  voice  ^)f 
(iod.  With  simi)le  resignation  he  bowed  to  the  tlivine 
decree. 

As  the  end  drew  near,  his  early  craving  for  the  sea 
returned.  The  stately  mansion  of  power  had  been  to  him 
tlie  wearisome  hospital  of  pain,  and  he  begged  to  be  taken 
from  its  prison-walls,  from  its  oppressive,  stifling  air,  from 
its  homelessness  and  its  hopelessness.  Gently,  silently,  the 
love  of  a  great  people  bore  the  pale  sufferer  to  the  longed- 
for  healing  of  the  sea,  to  live  or  to  die,  as  God  should  will, 
within  sight  of  its  heaving  billows,  within  sound  of  its  mani- 
fold voices.  With  wan,  fevered  face  tenderly  lifted  to  the 
cooling  breeze  he  looked  out  wistfully  upon  the  ocean's 
changing  wonders — on  its  far  sails  whitening  in  the  morning 
light;  on  its  restless  waves  rolling  shoreward  to  break  and 
die  beneath  the  noonday  sun;  on  the  red  clouds  of  evening 
arching  low  to  the  horizon;  on  the  serene  and  shining  path- 
way of  the  stars.  Let  us  think  that  his  dying  eyes  read  a 
mystic  meaning  which  only  the  rapt  and  parting  soul  may 
know.  Let  us  believe  that  in  the  silence  of  the  receding 
world  he  heard  the  great  waves  breaking  on  a  farther  shore, 
and  felt  already  upon  his  wasted  brow  the  breath  of  the 
eternal  morning. 


CUBA  145 


CUBA 


By  William  Pierce  Frye,  Lawyer  ;   Member  of  Congress  from  Maine, 
1871-81;   Senator,  1881-.      Born  in  Levviston,  Maine,  1831. 

From  a  speech  delivered  in  the  Senate,  February  28,  1896;  the  Senate  having  under 
consideration  a  resolution  relative  to  the  war  in  Cuba.  See  Congressional  Record, 
February  2S,  1896. 

INIr.  President,  in  the  Committee  on  Foreign  Relations,  I 
voted  for  the  pending  resolution,  but  it  is  no  fetich  of  mine. 
I  am  prepared  to  vote  for  that  or  for  any  other  resolution, 
however  drastic  and  however  far-reaching,  which  can  justly 
and  without  violating  international  obligations  be  passed 
by  Congress.  I  have  but  one  desire,  and  that  is  to  see  Cuba 
an  independent  republic,  and  whatever  I  can  do  justly  and 
honorably  to  that  end  I  am  prepared  now  to  do. 

Mr.  President,  1  am  weary  and  heartsick  to  see  this 
splendid  Republic  of  ours,  its  foundation-stones  the  equal 
rights  of  man,  doing  day  after  day  and  month  after  month 
police  duty  for  the  most  wicked  despotism  there  is  to-day 
on  this  earth.  When  I  read  two  or  three  days  ago  that  a 
vessel  carryinir  arms,  ammunition,  supplies,  and  a  few  men 
to  aid  the  Cuban  insurgents,  had  been  successfully  seized 
by  the  United  States  of  America,  I  recognized  the  fact  of  the 
supremacy  of  law;  but  I  was  mortified  and  humiliated 
beyond  expression,  and  I  should  have  been  delighted  if  I 
could  have  read  in  the  very  next  item  that  Almighty  God, 
without  destroying  innocent  human  life,  had  sent  a  commo- 
tion of  nature,  a  grand  tidal  wave,  and  had  sent  skyward  the 
seizing  vessel,  and  had  sent  the  succoring  ship  Cubaward ;  I 
should  have  rejoiced  beyond  measure. 

Sir,  I  never  can  forget  what  I  felt  when  I  read  in  the  press 
years  and  years  ago  that  a  poor  black  man  escaping  from 
slavery  had  been  seized  by  a  United  States  marshal,  aided  by 
a  regiment  of  United  States  soldiers,  in  the  streets  of  Boston, 
right  in  front  of  the  Cradle  of  Liberty,  and  had  been 
manacled  and  sent  back  into  slavery.      I  recognized  that  the 


i4<»  ai.iKij:s  Hi:\Ky  /'.-irk/ilkst 

law  had  been  vimlicatcil ;  Imt  tliorc  was  not  a  humane  or  a 
Christian  man  or  wt^nian  in  the  entire  North  who  wouKl  not 
liavc  thanked  C'lOil,  who  wouKl  not  have  rejoiced  without 
limit,  if  He,  in  His  divine  jirovidence,  hat!  ri,c;lit  at  that  time 
]>araly/,cd  the  stronj:;  arm  of  the  law  and  the  jionr  slave  had 
gone  free. 

Sir,  I  say  I  am  tiretl  and  wearied  with  doing  j)olice  duty 
for  the  despotism  of  Spain,  and  I  look  upon  these  resolu- 
tions anil  the  action  of  Congress  now  as  the  first  stcji  in  call- 
ing a  halt. 

Mr.  President,  my  creed  in  these  regards  has  no  thirty- 
nine  articles.  It  is  a  very  brief  one.  These  insurgents  in 
this  beautiful,  but  ill-fated  and  cruelly  misgoverned,  island 
have  my  profoundest  sympathies.  I  cannot  forget  that 
where  we  had  one  just  cause  to  rebel  against  the  mother 
country  these  men  have  scores  as  just  for  their  rebellion; 
and  I  shall  do  or  say  or  vote  anything,  consistent  with  the 
honor  and  the  integrity  of  the  Republic,  which  shall,  in  my 
opinion,  promote  the  success  of  the  Cuban  patriots  who  are 
to-day  so  bravely  struggling  to  wrest  liberty  from  the  iron 
grasp  of  a  cruel  and  relentless  despotism. 


PIETY    AND    CIVIC    VIRTUE 

By  Charles  Hf.nrv  PARKHrRST,  Preacher,  Author;  Pastor  of  the 
Madison  .Square  Presbyterian  Cliurcli,  New  York  City,  1880 — .  Born 
at  Framingham,  Mass.,   1842. 

The  fault  with  the  mass  of  civic  virtue  is  that  there  is  not 
enough  Christian  live  coal  in  it  to  make  it  safe  to  be  counted 
on  for  solid  effects.  What  a  wicked  man  will  do  on  election 
day  you  can  tell.  What  a  good  man  will  do  you  cannot 
tell.  Most  likely  he  will  not  do  anything.  It  is  a  singular 
fact  that  goodness  cannot  be  so  confidently  trusted  as 
depravity  can  to  do  what  is  expected  of  it.  It  is  not  so 
reliable.      It  takes  a  larger  consideration  to  prevent  a  bad 


PIETY  AND   ayiC   VIRTUE  147 

man  from  casting  his  ballot  for  rum  than  it  does  to  prevent 
a.  good  man  from  going  and  voting  against  it. 

Average  decency  is  not  so  much  in  earnest  as  average 
profligacy.  Elections  in  city  and  State  are  very  likely  to 
turn  on  the  weather.  Singularly  enough  a  watery  day  is  apt 
to  mean  a  rum  government.  Respectability  looks  at  the 
barometer  before  it  steps  out  of  doors.  Decency  is  afraid 
of  taking  cold.  Piety  does  not  like  to  get  its  feet  wet. 
Wickedness  is  amphibious  and  thrives  in  any  element  or  in 
no  element.  There  are  a  good  many  lessons  which  the 
powers  of  darkness  are  competent  to  teach  the  children  of 
light,  and  that  is  one  of  them.  Vice  is  a  good  deal  spryer 
than  virtue,  has  more  staying  power,  can  work  longer  with- 
out getting  out  of  breath,  and  has  less  need  of  half-holidays. 

I  know  because  of  this  people  say,  you  can't  do  anything. 
You  can.  One  man  can  chase  a  thousand;  we  have  the 
Almighty's  word  for  it.  I  have  done  it.  I  am  not  bragging 
of  it;  but  I  have  done  it.  And  any  man  can  do  it  be  he 
Catholic,  Republican,  or  Democrat,  if  he  have  the  truth  on 
his  side,  dares  to  stand  up  and  tell  it,  is  distinguished  by 
consecrated  hang-to-itiveness,  and  when  he  has  been 
knocked  down  once  preserves  his  serenity,  gets  up,  and  goes 
at  it  again.  One  man  can  chase  a  thousand.  Let  our 
earnest,  fiery  citizens  once  get  but  an  inkling  of  what 
citizenship  means,  in  its  truest  and  innermost  sense,  and  there 
is  no  wall  of  misrule  too  solidly  constructed  for  it  to  over- 
throw; no  "machine"  of  demagogism  too  elaborately 
wrought  for  it  to  smash.  There  is  nothing  that  can  stand 
in  the  way  of  virtue  on  fire.  A  fact  you  can  misstate,  a 
principle  you  can  put  under  a  false  guise,  but  a  man  you 
cannot  down;  that  is  to  say,  if  he  is  a  man  who  has  grit, 
grace,  and  sleeps  well  o'  nights. 

There  is  no  play  about  this  work;  there  is  no  fun  in  it. 
It  means  annoyances;  it  means  enmities.  It  is  no  more 
possible  to  stand  up  in  the  presence  of  the  community  and 
speak  the  truth  in  cold  monosyllables  now  than  it  was  in 


mS  CHARLES   HF.NRY   P.-IRKHl'RST 

Jcnisaloiii  two  (housaiul  years  ago.  Iluinan  nature  has  not 
altcrcil  any  in  that  time.  Tliere  is  not  so  nuich  wickedness 
now,  perhaps,  as  there  was  then,  but  wliat  there  is  is  just  as 
wicked  ami  just  as  malignant.  If  a  man  butts  his  head 
against  a  wall,  he  may  be  able  to  do  a  little  something 
towards  weakening  the  wall,  but  it  will  be  certain  to  give 
him  the  headache.  Action  and  reaction  are  bound  to  be 
equal.  Nothing  less  than  the  steady  pull  of  a  long  and 
devout  purpose  will  be  sufficient  under  those  circumstances 
to  keep  the  man  a-going. 

]\Ien  now  are  precisely  what  they  were  when  they  thrust 
Jeremiah  into  a  hole  and  took  off  the  head  of  John  the 
liaptist.  But  that  makes  not  a  whit  of  difference.  Every 
blow  tells.  Wickedness  is  cowardly  and  Pentecostal  virtue 
is  not.  That  makes  a  huge  difference.  The  matter  of 
numbers  does  not  come  into  the  account.  History  is  not 
administered  on  the  basis  of  arithmetic.  The  declaration  of 
Solomon  that  the  battle  is  not  to  the  strong  has  been  justi- 
fied by  every  age  of  moral,  political,  and  military  history. 

No  cause  can  be  called  a  weak  cause  that  has  vitality 
enough  about  it  to  make  devotees  out  of  its  advocates. 
Philip  Second  could  do  nothing  with  poor  little  Plolland 
because  the  Protestant's  idea  put  recruits  on  their  feet  faster 
than  Philip's  mercenaries  could  shoot  or  roast  the  veterans. 

If  any  one  anywhere  is  anxious  to  accomplish  something 
in  the  way  of  ameliorating  the  condition  of  his  town  or  city, 
and  asks  me  what  he  shall  do,  I  answer  in  ten  words:  Get 
the  facts;  state  them;  stand  up  to  them. 


ON    THE   OTHER    TRAIN :  A   CLOCK'S  STORY         I49 

ON   THE    OTHER   TRAIN:   A    CLOCK'S    STORY 

Anonymous. 

"  There,  Simmons,  you  blockhead!  Why  didn't  you  trot 
that  old  woman  aboard  her  train  ?  She'll  have  to  wait  here 
now  until  the  1.05  a.m." 

"  You  didn't  tell  me." 

"  Yes,  I  did  tell  you.  'Twas  only  your  confounded 
stupid  carelessness." 

"She—" 

''She/  You  fool!  What  else  could  you  expect  of  her! 
Probably  she  hasn't  any  wit;  besides,  she  isn't  bound  on  a 
very  jolly  journey — got  a  pass  up  the  road  to  the  poorhouse. 
I'll  go  and  tell  her,  and  if  you  forget  her  to-night,  see  if  I 
don't  make  mince-meat  of  you!"  and  our  worthy  ticket 
agent  shook  his  fist  menacingly  at  his  subordinate. 

"  You've  missed  your  train,  marm, "  he  remarked,  coming 
forward  to  a  queer-looking  bundle  in  the  corner. 

A  trembling  hand  raised  the  faded  black  veil,  and  revealed 
the  sweetest  old  face  I  ever  saw. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  a  quivering  voice. 

"  'Tis  only  three  o'clock  now;  you'll  have  to  wait  until 
the  night  train,  which  doesn't  go  up  until  1.05." 

"  Very  well,  sir;   I  can  wait." 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  to  some  hotel  ?  Simmons  will 
show  you  the  way." 

"  No,  thank  you,  sir.  One  place  is  as  good  as  another 
to  me.      Besides,  I  haven't  any  money." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  agent,  turning  away  indifferently. 
"  Simmons  wall  tell  you  when  it's  time." 

All  the  afternoon  she  sat  there  so  quiet  that  I  thought  she 
must  be  asleep,  but  when  I  looked  more  closely  I  could  see 
every  once  in  a  while  a  great  tear  rolling  down  her  cheek, 
which  she  would  wipe  away  hastily  with  her  colored  hand- 
kerchief. 

The  station  was  crowded,  and  all   was  bustle  and  hurry 


ISO  ^SONYMOU.^ 

until  tin-  g.50  train  p:iMnp  cast  came  clue;  then  every  passen- 
ger left  except  the  okl  lady.  It  is  very  rare  inileed  that  any 
one  takes  the  night  express,  and  almost  always  after  ten 
o'clock  the  station  becomes  silent  and  empty. 

The  ticket  agent  put  on  his  great-coat,  and,  bidding 
Simmons  keep  his  wits  about  him  for  once  in  his  life, 
departed  for  home. 

But  he  had  no  sooner  gone  than  that  functionary  stretched 
himself  out  upon  the  table,  as  usual,  and  began  to  snore 
vociferously. 

Then  it  was  that  I  witnessed  such  a  sight  as  I  never  had 
before  and  never  expect  to  witness  again. 

The  fire  had  gone  down — it  was  a  cold  night,  and  the 
wind  howled  dismally  outside.  The  lamf)s  grew  dim  and 
flared,  casting  weird  shadows  upon  tlie  wall.  By  and  by  I 
heard  a  smothered  sob  from  the  corner,  then  another.  I 
looked  in  that  direction.  She  had  risen  from  her  seat,  and 
oh,  the  look  of  agony  on  that  poor  pinched  face! 

"I  can't  believe  it!  My  babies!  my  babies!  how  often 
have  I  held  them  in  my  arms  and  kissed  them;  and  how 
often  they  used  to  say  back  to  me,  '  Ise  love  you,  mamma,' 
and  now,  O  God!  they've  turned  against  me!  Where  am  I 
going.'  To  the  poorhouse!  No!  no!  no!  I  cannot!  I 
will  not!      Oh,  the  disgrace!  " 

And  sinking  upon  her  knees,  she  sobbed  out  in  prayer: 
"  O  God,  spare  me  this  and  take  me  home!  O  God,  spare 
me  this  disgrace ;  spare  me !  ' ' 

The  wind  rose  higher  and  swept  through  ttie  crevices,  icy 
cold.  How  it  moaned  and  seemed  to  sob  like  something 
human  that  is  hurt!  I  began  to  shake,  but  the  kneeling 
figure  never  stirred.  The  thin  shawl  had  dropped  from  her 
shoulders  unheeded.  Simmons  turned  over  and  drew  his 
blanket  more  closely  about  him. 

Oh,  how  cold!  Only  one  lamp  remained,  burning  dimly; 
the  other  two  had  gone  out  for  want  of  oil.  I  could  liardly 
see,  it  was  so  dark. 


ON    THE   OTHER    TRAIN:   A   CLOCK'S  STORY         151 

At  last  she  became  quieter  and  ceased  to  moan.  Then  I 
grew  drowsy,  and  kind  of  lost  run  of  things  after  I  had 
struck  twelve,  when  some  one  entered  the  station  with  a 
bright  light.  I  started  up.  It  was  the  brightest  light  I  ever 
saw,  and  seemed  to  fill  the  room  full  of  glory.  I  could  see 
'twas  a  man.  He  walked  to  the  kneeling  figure  and  touched 
her  upon  the  shoulder.  She  started  up  and  turned  her  face 
wildly  round.      I  heard  him  say: 

"  'Tis  train-time,  ma'am.      Come!  " 

A  look  of  joy  came  over  her  face. 

"  I  am  ready,"  she  whispered. 

"  Then  give  me  your  pass,  ma'am." 

She  reached  him  a  worn  old  book,  which  he  took,  and 
from  it  read  aloud  : 

"  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy-laden, 
and  I  will  give  you  rest." 

"  That's  the  pass  over  our  road,  ma'am.  Are  you 
ready .'' ' ' 

The  light  died  away,  and  darkness  fell  in  its  place.  My 
hand  touched  the  stroke  of  one.  Simmons  awoke  with  a 
start  and  snatched  his  lantern.  The  whistle  sounded  "  down 
breaks  ' ' ;  the  train  was  due.  He  ran  to  the  corner  and 
shook  the  old  woman. 

"  Wake  up,  marm;   'tis  train-time." 

But  she  never  heeded.  He  gave  one  look  at  the  white  set 
face,  and,  dropping  his  lantern,  fled. 

The  up  train  halted,  the  conductor  shouted  "  All  aboard,  " 
but  no  one  made  a  move  that  way. 

The  next  morning,  when  the  ticket  agent  came,  he  found 
her  frozen  to  death.  They  whispered  among  themselves, 
and  the  coroner  made  out  the  verdict  "  apoplexy,"  and  it 
was  in  some  way  hushed  up. 

They  laid  her  out  in  the  station,  and  advertised  for  her 
friends,  but  no  one  came.  So,  after  the  second  day,  they 
buried  her. 

The  last  look  on  the  sweet  old  face,   lit  up  with  a  gniile 


If 2  THOM.^S  BR^ICKl-TT  RlU-.n 

so  hcavi'uly.  1  ki'i'p  with  \\\v  yit ;  and  wlun  I  think  i.f  the 
occurrence  of  that  night,  I  know  she  went  out  t)n  tlie  other 
train,  which  never  stopped  at  the  poorhouse. 


OPPORTUNITY    TO    LABOR 

By  Thomas  Prackhtt  Rkkp,  L.iwyer,  Statesman;  MemlxT  of  Congress 
from  Maine,  1877-00-  Speaker  of  the  51st,  54th,  and  55th  Con- 
gresses.     Born  in  Portland,  Me.,  1839;    resides  in  New  York,  N.  Y. 

From   .in  address  delivered  at   Old  Orchard,   Me.,   August  25,    iSg6.     See   Portland 
Daily  Press,  Aug.  27,  1896. 

^^'hat  seemed  the  great  primeval  curse  tliat  in  the  sweat 
of  his  face  should  man  eat  bread  has  been  found,  in  the 
Mider  view  of  the  great  cycles  of  the  Almighty,  to  be  the 
foundation  of  all  sound  hope,  all  sure  progress,  and  all 
permanent  power.  Man  no  longer  shuns  labor  as  his 
deadliest  foe,  but  welcomes  it  as  his  dearest  friend.  Nations 
no  longer  dream  of  riches  as  the  spoils  of  war,  but  as  the 
fruits  of  human  energy  directed  by  wise  laws  and  encouraged 
by  peace  and  good  will.  Battlements  and  forts  and  castles, 
armies  and  navies,  are  day  by  day  less  and  less  the  enginery 
of  slaughter,  and  more  and  more  the  guarantee  of  peace  with 
honor.  What  the  world  longs  for  now  is  not  the  pageantry 
and  devastation  of  war  for  the  aggrandizement  of  the  few, 
but  the  full  utilization  of  all  human  energy  for  the  benefit 
of  all  mankind. 

Give  us  but  the  opportunity  to  labor,  and  the  whole  world 
of  human  life  will  burst  into  tree  and  flower. 

To  the  seventy-five  millions  of  people  who  make  up  this 
great  Republic,  the  opportunity  to  labor  means  more  than 
to  all  the  world  besides.  It  means  the  development  of 
resources  great  beyond  the  comprehension  of  any  mortal,  and 
the  diffusion  among  all  of  the  riches  to  which  the  glories  of 
"  The  Arabian  Nights  "  are  but  the  glitter  of  the  pawnshop, 
and  to  which  the  sheen  of  all  the  jewels  of  this  earth  are  but 
the  gleam  of  the  glowworm  in  the  pallor  of  the  dawn. 


THE  BENEDICTION  153 

To  develop  our  great  resources,  it  is  the  one  prime  neces- 
sity that  all  our  people  should  be  at  work,  that  all  the  brain 
and  muscle  should  be  in  harmonious  action,  united  in  tlieir 
endeavors  to  utilize  the  great  forces  of  nature  and  to  make 
wealth  out  of  senseless  matter  and  out  of  all  the  life  which 
begins  with  the  cradle  and  ends  with  the  grave,  and  out  of 
all  the  powers  which  ebb  and  flow  in  the  tides  of  the  ocean, 
in  the  rush  of  the  rivers,  and  out  of  the  great  energies  which 
are  locked  up  in  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 


THE   BENEDICTION 

By  Francois  Coppee,  Poet,  Dramatist.     Born  in  Paris,  France,  184 

It  was  in  eighteen  hundred — yes — and  nine. 
That  we  took  Saragossa.      What  a  day 
Of  untold  horrors!      I  was  sergeant  then. 
The  city  carried,  we  laid  siege  to  the  houses, 
All  shut  up  close,  and  with  a  treacherous  look. 
Raining  down  shots  upon  us  from  the  windows. 
"  'Tis  the  priests'  doing!  "  was  the  word  passed  round; 
So  that — although  since  daybreak  under  arms. 
Our  eyes  with  powder  smarting,  and  our  mouths 
Bitter  with  kissing  cartridge-ends — piff !  piff ! 
Rattled  the  musketry  with  ready  aim, 
If  shovel  hat  and  long  black  coat  were  seen 
Flying  in  the  distance.      Up  a  narrow  street 
My  company  worked  on.      I  kept  an  eye 
On  every  house-top,  right  and  left,  and  saw 
From  many  a  roof  flames  suddenly  burst  forth. 
Coloring  the  sky,  as  from  the  chimney-tops 
Among  the  forges.      Low  our  fellows  stooped. 
Entering  the  low-pitched  dens.      When  they  came  out, 
With  bayonets  dripping  red,  their  bloody  fingers 
Signed  crosses  on  the  wall;  for  we  were  bound. 
In  such  a  dangerous  defile,  not  to  leave 
Foes  lurking  in  our  rear.      There  was  no  drum-beat. 


154  /R.txi^'ots  corrr.F. 

No  ordered  march.      Our  ofliccrs  looked  j^ravo; 
The  rank  and  file  uneasy,  jogging  elbows 
As  do  recruits  when  Ihnching. 

All  at  once, 
Rounding  a  corner,  we  are  iiailed  in  French 
With  cries  for  help.      -\t  double-quick  we  join 
Our  hanl-pressed  comrades.      They  were  grenadiers, 
A  gallant  company,  but  beaten  back 
Inglorious  from  the  raised  and  tlag-paved  square 
I'>onting  a  convent.      Twenty  stalwart  monks 
Defended  it,  black  demons  with  shaved  crowns. 
The  cross  in  white  embroidered  on  tlieir  frocks, 
Barefoot,  their  sleeves  tucked  up,  their  only  weapons 
Enormous  crucifixes,  so  well  brandished 
Our  men  went  down  before  them.      By  platoons 
Firing  we  swept  the  place;  in  fact,  we  slaughtered 
This  terrible  group  of  heroes,  no  more  soui 
Being  in  us  than  in  executioners. 

The  foul  deed  done — deliberately  done — 
And  the  thick  smoke  rolling  away,  we  noted, 
Under  the  huddled  masses  of  the  dead, 
Rivulets  of  blood  run  trickling  down  the  steps; 
While  in  the  background  solemnly  the  church 
Loomed  up,  its  doors  wide  open.      We  went  in. 
It  was  a  desert.      Lighted  tapers  starred 
The  inner  gloom  with  points  of  gold.      The  incense 
Gave  out  its  perfume.      At  the  upper  end, 
Turned  to  the  altar,  as  though  unconcerned 
In  the  fierce  battle  that  had  raged,  a  priest, 
White-haired  and  tall  of  stature,  to  a  close 
W^as  bringing  tranquilly  the  mass.      So  stamped 
Upon  my  memory  is  that  thrilling  scene, 
'I'hat,  as  I  speak,  it  comes  before  me  now — 
The  convent,  built  in  old  time  by  the  Moors; 
The  huge,  brown  corpses  of  the  monks;   the  sun 


THE  BENEDICTION  I5S 

Making  the  red  blood  on  the  pavement  steam ; 
And  there,  framed  in  by  the  low  porch,  the  priest; 
And  there  the  altar,  brilliant  as  a  shrine; 
And  here  ourselves,  all  halting,  hesitating, 
Almost  afraid. 

I,  certes,  in  those  days 
Was  a  confirmed  blasphemer.      'Tis  on  record 
That  once,  by  way  of  sacrilegious  joke, 
A  chapel  being  sacked,  I  lit  my  pipe 
At  a  wax  candle  burning  on  the  altar. 
This  time,  however,  I  was  awed — so  blanched 
Was  that  old  man! 

"  Shoot  him!  "  our  captain  cried. 
Not  a  soul  budged.      The  priest  beyond  all  doubt 
Heard;  but,  as  though  he  heard  not,  turning  round. 
He  faced  us  with  the  elevated  Host, 
Having  that  period  of  the  service  reached 
When  on  the  faithful  benediction  falls. 
His  lifted  arms  seemed  as  the  spread  of  wings; 
And  as  he  raised  the  pyx,  and  in  the  air 
With  it  described  the  cross,  each  man  of  us 
Fell  back,  aware  the  priest  no  more  was  trembling 
Than  if  before  him  the  devout  were  ranged. 
But  when,  intoned  with  clear  and  mellow  voice. 
The  words  came  to  us — 

Vos  lenedicat / 
Dens  Omnipotens  ! 

The  captain's  order 
Rang  out  again  and  sharply,  "  Shoot  him  down. 
Or  I  shall  swear!  "     Then  one  of  ours,  a  dastard. 
Leveled  his  gun  and  fired.      Upstanding  still. 
The  priest  changed  color,  though  with  steadfast  look 
Set  upwards,  and  indomitably  stern. 
Pater  et  Filius  / 

Came  the  words.      What  frenzy. 
What  maddening  thirst  for  blood,  sent  from  our  ranks 


Another  sliot.  I  know  not;  Imt  'twas  ilonc. 
The  monk,  with  one  huiul  on  th-j  altar's  ledge, 
HcKl  iiinisi'lf  up;  and  strenuous  to  complete 
His  benediction,  in  the  other  raiseil 
The  consecrated  Host.      For  the  third  time 
Tracing  in  the  air  the  symbol  of  forgiveness,' 
With  eyes  closed,  and  in  tones  exceeding  low, 
But  in  the  general  hush  distinctly  heard, 
£/  Sanc/Ui  Spiriius  ! 

He  said;   and  ending 
His  service,  fell  down  dead. 


SPARTACUS  TO  THE  ROMAN  ENVOYS 

By  Epes  Sargent,  Editor,  Author,  Poet.     Born  in  Gloucester,   Mass., 
1813;  died  in  Boston,  Mass.,  1880. 

Envoys  of  Rome,  the  poor  camp  of  Spartacus  is  too  much 
honored  by  your  presence.  And  does  Rome  stop  to  parley 
with  the  escaped  gladiator,  with  the  rebel  ruffian,  for  whom 
heretofore  no  slight  has  been  too  scornful  .'  You  have 
come,  with  steel  in  your  right  hand,  and  with  gold  in  your 
left.  What  heed  we  give  the  former,  ask  Cossinius;  ask 
Claudius;  ask  Varinius;  ask  the  bones  of  your  legions  that 
fertilize  the  Lucanian  plains.  And  for  your  gold — would  ye 
know  what  we  do  with  that, — go  ask  the  laborer,  the  trodden 
poor,  the  helpless  and  the  hopeless,  on  our  route;  ask  all 
whom  Roman  tyranny  had  crushed,  or  Roman  avarice 
plundered.  Ye  have  seen  me  before;  but  ye  did  not  then 
shun  my  glance  as  now.  Ye  have  seen  me  in  the  arena, 
when  I  was  Rome's  pet  ruffian,  daily  smeared  with  blood 
of  men  or  beasts.  One  day — shall  I  forget  it  ever  ? — -ye  were 
present; — I  had  fought  long  and  well.  Exhausted  as  I  was, 
your  munerator,  your  lord  of  the  games,  bethought  him,  it 
were  an  equal  match  to  set  against  me  a  new  man,  younger 
and  lighter  than  I,  but  fresh  and  valiant.  \\'ith  Thracian 
sword  and  buckler,  forth  he  came,  a  beautiful  defiance  on 


SPARTACUS    TO    THE  ROMAN  ENI/OYS  157 

his  brow!  Bloody  and  brief  the  fight.  "  lie  lias  it!  "  cried 
the  people:  '' habeif  habel !  "  But  still  he  lowered  not  his 
arm,  until,  at  length,  I  held  him,  gashed  and  fainting,  in 
my  power.  I  looked  around  upon  the  Podium,  where  sat 
your  senators  and  men  of  state,  to  catch  the  signal  of  release 
or  mercy.  But  not  a  thumb  was  reversed.  To  crown  your 
sport,  the  vanquished  man  must  die!  Obedient  brute  that 
I  was,  I  was  about  to  slay  him,  when  a  few  hurried  w'ords — 
rather  a  welcome  to  death  than  a  plea  for  life— told  me  he 
was  a  Thra(  ian.  I  stood  transfixed.  The  arena  vanished. 
I  was  in  Thrace,  upon  my  native  hills!  The  sword  dropped 
from  my  hands.  I  raised  the  dying  youth  tenderly  in  my 
arms.  O,  the  magnanimity  of  Rome!  Your  haughty 
leaders,  enraged  at  being  cheated  of  their  death-show,  hissed 
their  disappointment,  and  shouted,  "Kill!"  I  heeded 
them  as  I  would  heed  the  howl  of  wolves.  Kill  him? — They 
might  have  better  asked  the  mother  to  kill  the  babe,  smiling 
in  her  face.  Ah!  he  was  already  wounded  unto  death;  and, 
amid  the  angry  yells  of  the  spectators,  he  died.  That  night 
I  was  scourged  for  disobedience.  I  shall  not  forget  it. 
Should  memory  fail,  there  are  scars  here  to  quicken  it. 

Well ;  do  not  grow  impatient,  Some  hours  after,  finding 
myself,  with  seventy  fellow  gladiators,  alone  in  the  amphi- 
theater, the  laboring  thought  broke  forth  in  words.  I  said 
— I  know  not  what.  I  only  knew  that,  when  I  ceased,  my 
comrades  looked  each  other  in  the  face — and  then  burst 
forth  the  simultaneous  cry — "  Lead  on!  Lead  on,  O  Sparta- 
cus!  "  Forth  we  rushed, — seized  what  rude  weapons 
chance  threw  in  our  way,  and  to  the  mountains  speeded. 
There,  day  by  day,  our  little  band  increased.  Disdainful 
Rome  sent  after  us  a  handful  of  her  troops,  w'ith  a  scourge 
for  the  slave  Spartacus.  Their  weapons  soon  were  ours. 
She  sent  an  army;  and  down  from  Old  Vesuvius  we  poured, 
and  slew  three  thousand.  Now  it  was  Spartacus  the  dreadful 
rebel !  A  larger  army,  headed  by  the  Praetor,  was  sent,  and 
routed;  then  another  still.      And  always  I  remembered  that 


15S  THFOnORf:    r.-tRKi:R 

fierce  cry,  riving  my  heart,  and  calling  nic  to  "  kill!  "  In 
three  pitchcil  battles  have  I  not  obeyed  it  ?  Ami  now 
affrighted  Rome  sends  lier  two  consuls,  and  puts  forth  all 
her  strength  bv  land  and  sea,  as  if  a  Pyrrhus  or  a  Hannibal 
were  on  her  borders ! 

Envoys  of  Rome!  To  Lcntulus  and  Gellius  bear  this 
message:  "Their  graves  are  measured!"  Look  on  that 
narrow  stream,  a  silver  thread,  high  on  the  mountain's  side! 
Slenderly  it  winds,  but  soon  is  swelled  by  others  meeting  it, 
until  a  torrent,  terrible  and  strong,  it  sweeps  to  the  abyss, 
where  all  is  ruin!  So  Spartacus  comes  on!  So  sw-ells ///j 
force, — small  and  despised  at  first,  but  now  resistless!  On, 
on  to  Rome  we  come!  The  gladiators  come!  Let  Opulence 
tremble  in  all  his  palaces!  Let  Oppression  shudder  to  think 
the  oppressed  may  have  their  turn!  Let  Cruelty  turn  pale 
at  thought  of  redder  hands  than  his!  O!  we  shall  not  forget 
Rome's  many  lessons.  She  shall  not  find  her  training  was 
all  wasted  upon  indocile  pupils.  Now,  begone!  Prepare 
the  Eternal  Citv  for  our  games! 


AGAINST   THE    FUGITIVE-SLAVE    LAW 

By  Theodore  Parker.  Preacher,  Reformer,   Lecturer,   Author.     Born 
at  Lexington,  Mass.,  iSio;  died  at  Florence,  Italy,  i860. 

From  a  sermon  preached  in  Boston,  Mass  ,  November  28,  1850.  See  Parker's 
"  Speeches,  Addresses,  and  Occasional  Sermons,"'  published  in  1852  by  Wm.  Crosby 
and  H.  P.  Nichols,  Boston,  Mass. 

Come  with  me,  my  friends,  a  moment  more,  pass  over 
this  Golgotha  of  human  historj',  treading  reverent  as  you  go, 
for  our  feet  are  on  our  mothers'  graves,  and  our  shoes  defile 
our  fathers'  hallowed  bones.  Let  us  not  talk  of  them;  go 
farther  on,  look  and  pass  by.  Come  with  me  into  the 
inferno  of  the  nations,  with  such  poor  guidance  as  my  lamp 
can  lend.  Let  us  disquiet  and  bring  up  the  awful  .shadows 
of  empires  buried  long  ago,  and  learn  a  lesson  from  the 
tomb-      "  Come,  old  Assyria,  with  the  Ninevitish  dove  upon 


AGAINST    THE   FUGITiyE-SLAl^E  LAW  159 

thy  emerald  crown!  what  laid  thee  low  ?  "  "I  fell  by  my 
cwn  injustice.  Thereby  Nineveh  and  Babylon  came  with 
me  also  to  the  ground." — "  O,  queenly  Persia,  flame  of  the 
nations,  wherefore  art  thou  so  fallen,  who  troddest  the 
people  under  thee,  bridgedst  the  Hellespont  with  ships,  and 
pouredst  thy  temple-wasting  millions  on  the  world  .''  " 
"  Because  I  trod  the  people  under  me,  and  bridged  the 
Hellespont  with  ships,  and  poured  my  temple-wasting 
millions  on  the  western  world,  I  fell  by  my  own  misdeeds. 
— "  Thou  muse-like  Grecian  queen,  fairest  of  all  thy  classic 
sisterhood  of  states,  enchanting  yet  the  world  with  thy  sweet 
witchery,  speaking  in  art  and  most  seductive  song,  why  liest 
thou  there,  with  beauteous  yet  dishonored  brow,  reposing 
on  thy  broken  harp  }"  "I  scorned  the  law  of  God; 
banished  and  poisoned  wisest,  justest  men;  I  loved  the 
loveliness  of  thought,  and  treasured  that  in  more  than  Parian 
speech.  But  the  beauty  of  justice,  the  loveliness  of  love,  I 
trod  them  down  to  earth !  Lo,  therefore  have  I  become  as 
those  barbarian  states — as  one  of  them!" — ^"  O,  manly 
and  majestic  Rome,  thy  sevenfold  muraj  crown  all  broken 
at  thy  feet,  why  art  thou  here  .?  It  w-as  not  injustice  brought 
thee  low;  for  thy  great  book  of  law  is  prefaced  with  these 
words — justice  is  the  unchanged,  everlasting  will  to  give 
each  man  his  right!  It  was  not  the  saint's  ideal;  it  was 
the  hypocrite's  pretense.  I  made  iniquity  my  law.  I  trod 
the  nations  under  me.  Their  wealth  gilded  my  palaces — 
where  thou  maye.st  see  the  fox  and  hear  the  owl — it  fed  my 
courtiers  and  my  courtesans.  Wicked  men  were  my  cabinet 
counselors,  the  flatterer  breathed  his  poison  in  my  ear. 
Millions  of  bondsmen  wet  the  soil  with  tears  and  blood. 
Do  you  not  hear  it  crying  yet  to  God  ?  Lo,  here  have  I  my 
recompense,  tormented  with  such  downfall  as  you  see!  Go 
back  and  tell  the  new-born  child  who  sittcth  on  the 
Alleghanies,  laying  his  either  hand  upon  a  tributary  sea,  a 
crown  of  thirty  stars  upon  his  youthful  brow — tell  him  that 
there  are  rights  which  States  must  keep,  or  they  shall  suffer 


i6o  POOkl'R    r.-1t.i-4hF.RRO    H.-ISUISCTON 

wrongs  I  Tell  him  there  is  a  God  who  keeps  the  black  man 
and  the  white,  and  hurls  to  earth  the  loftiest  realm  that 
breaks  his  just,  iternal  law!  Warn  the  young  empire,  that 
he  come  not  ilown  dim  and  dishonored  to  my  shameful 
tomb!  Tell  him  that  justice  is  the  unchanging,  everlasting 
will  to  give  each  man  his  right.  I  knew  it,  broke  it,  and 
am  lost.      ]?id  him  know  it,  kecj)  it,  and  be  safe." 

A    MESSAGE    FROM    THE    SOUTH 

By  Booker  Taliaferro  Washington,  Educator,  Principal  of  Tuskegee 
Normal  and  Intlustrial  Institute.  Born  a  slave  near  Hale's  Ford,  Va., 
in  1857  or  185S. 

From  an  address  delivered  at  the  unveiling  o(  the  Shaw  Monument,  Boston,  Mass., 
May  31,  1897.     See  Harvard  Graduates''  Magazine,  Sept.  18^7. 

If  that  heart  could  throb  and  if  those  lips  could  speak, 
what  would  be  the  sentiment  and  words  that  Robert  Gould 
Shaw  would  have  us  feel  and  .speak  at  this  hour  .'  He  would 
not  have  us  dwell  long  on  the  mistakes,  the  injustice,  the 
criticisms  of  the  days 

••  Of  storm  and  cloud,  of  doubt  and  fears 
That  'cross  the  eternal  sky  must  lower. 
Before  the  glorious  noon  appears." 

lie  would  have  us  bind  up  witli  his  own  undying  fame  and 
memory,  and  retain  by  the  side  of  his  monument,  the  name 
of  John  A.  Andrew,  who,  with  clear  vision  and  strong  arm, 
helped  make  the  existence  of  the  Fifty-fourth  Regiment 
jjossible;  and  that  of  George  L.  Stearns,  who,  with  hidden 
generosity  and  a  great,  sweet  heart,  helped'to  turn  the  darkest 
iiour  into  day,  and  in  doing  so  freely  gave  service,  fortune, 
and  life  itself  to  the  cause  which  this  day  commemorates. 
Xor  would  he  have  us  forget  those  brother  officers,  living 
and  dead,  who,  by  their  baptism  in  blood  and  fire,  in  defense 
of  Union  and  freedom,  gave  us  an  example  of  the  highest 
and  purest  patriotism.    .    .    . 

But  an  occasion  like  this  is  too  great,  too  sacred  for  mere 
individual  eulogy.     The  individual  is  the  in.strument,  national 


A   MESSAGE  FROM    THE  SOUTH  i6i 

virtue  the  end.  That  which  was  three  hundred  years  being 
woven  into  the  warp  and  woof  of  our  democratic  institutions 
could  not  be  effaced  by  a  single  battle,  magnificent  as  was 
that  battle;  that  which  for  tliree  centuries  had  bound  master 
and  slave,  yea,  North  and  South,  to  a  body  of  death,  could 
not  be  blotted  out  by  four  years  of  war,  could  not  be  atoned 
for  by  shot  and  sword  nor  by  blood  and  tears. 

Not  many  days  ago,  in  the  heart  of  the  South,  in  a  large 
gathering  of  the  people  of  my  race,  there  were  heard  from 
many  lips  praises  and  thanksgiving  to  God  for  His  goodness 
in  setting  them  free  from  physical  slavery.  In  the  midst  of 
that  assembly  a  Southern  white  man  arose,  with  gray  hair  and 
trembling  hands,  the  former  owner  of  many  slaves,  and  from 
his  quivering  lips  there  came  the  words:  "  IMy  friends,  you 
forget  in  your  rejoicing  that  in  setting  you  free  God  was  also 
good  to  me  and  my  race  in  setting  us  free. "  But  there  is  a 
higher  and  deeper  sense  in  which  both  races  must  be  free 
than  that  represented  by  the  bill  of  sale.  The  black  man 
who  cannot  let  love  and  sympathy  go  out  to  the  white  man 
is  but  half  free.  The  white  man  who  would  close  the  shop 
or  factory  against  a  black  man  seeking  an  opportunity  to 
earn  an  honest  living  is  but  half  free.  The  white  man  who 
retards  his  own  development  by  opposing  a  black  man  is  but 
half  free.  The  full  measure  of  the  fruit  of  Fort  Wagner  and 
all  tliat  this  monument  stands  for  will  not  be  realized  until 
every  man  covered  by  a  black  skin  shall,  by  patience  and 
natural  effort,  grow  to  that  height  in  industry,  property, 
intelligence,  and  moral  responsibility  where  no  man  in  all 
our  land  will  be  tempted  to  degrade  himself  by  withholding 
from  his  black  brother  any  opportunity  which  he  himself 
would  possess. 

Until  that  time  comes  this  monument  will  stantl  f; ir  cllurt, 
not  victory  complete.  What  these  heroic  souls  of  (lie  Fifty- 
fourth  Regiment  began  we  must  complete.  It  must  be  com- 
pleted not  in  malice,  not  narrowness;  nor  artificial  progress, 
nor  in  efforts  at;  mere  temporary  political  gain,  nor  in  abuse 


1 62  liOOKliR    r.-H.I.-t/'HKRO    H.ISHI\(]TON 

of  aii>itlicr  sfctiun  or  r;icc.  Standing  as  I  do  to-day  in  the 
home  of  (Harrison  and  Philhps  and  Sumner,  my  heart  goes 
out  t(.>  tliose  wlio  \vi>re  the  gray  as  well  as  to  those  clothed 
in  blue,  to  those  who  returnetl  defeated,  to  destitute  homes, 
to  face  blasted  hopes  and  a  shattered  political  and  intlustrial 
system.  To  them  there  can  be  no  prouder  reward  for  defeat 
than  by  a  supreme  effort  to  jilace  the  negro  on  that  footing 
where  he  will  add  material,  intellectual,  and  civil  strength 
to  every  department  of  State.    .    .    . 

Wliat  lesson  has  this  occasion  for  the  future  ?  What  of 
hope,  what  of  encouragement,  what  of  caution  ?  "  Watch- 
man, tell  us  of  the  night,  wliat  the  signs  of  j)romise  are." 
If  through  me,  an  humble  representative,  nearly  ten  million 
of  my  people  might  be  permitted  to  send  a  message  to 
^Massachusetts,  to  the  survivors  of  the  Fifty-fourtli  Regiment, 
to  the  committee  whose  untiring  energy  has  made  tliis  me- 
morial possible,  to  the  family  who  gave  their  only  boy  that 
we  might  have  life  more  abundantly,  that  message  would  be, 
Tell  them  that  the  sacrifice  was  not  in  vain,  that  up  from  the 
depths  of  ignorance  and  poverty  we  are  coming,  and  if  we 
come  through  oppression  out  of  the  struggle  we  are  gaining 
strength.  By  the  way  of  the  school,  the  well-cultivated 
field,  the  skilled  hand,  the  Christian  home,  we  are  coming 
up;  that  we  propose  to  invite  all  who  will  to  step  up  and 
occupy  this  position  with  us. 

Tell  them  that  we  are  learning  that  standing-ground  for  a 
race,  as  for  an  individual,  must  be  laid  in  intelligence,  in- 
dustry, thrift,  and  property,  not  as  an  end,  but  as  a  means 
to  the  highest  privileges;  that  we  are  learning  that  neither 
the  conqueror's  bullet  nor  fiat  of  law  could  make  an 
ignorant  voter  an  intelligent  voter,  could  make  a  dependent 
man  an  independent  man,  could  give  one  citizen  respect  for 
another,  a  bank  account,  nor  a  foot  of  land,  nor  an  enlight- 
ened fireside.  Tell  them  that,  grateful  as  we  are  to  artist 
and  patriotism  for  placing  the  figures  of  Shaw  and  his  com- 
rades in  physical  form  of  beauty  and  magnificence,  after  all, 


THE  REyOLUTlONARY  RISING  163 

the  real  monument,  the  greater  monument,  is  being  slowly 
but  safely  builded  among  the  lowly  in  the  South,  in  the 
struggles  and  sacrifices  of  a  race  to  justify  all  that  has  been 
done  and  suffered  for  it. 

One  of  the  wishes  that  lay  nearest  Colonel  Shaw's  heart 
was  that  his  black  troops  might  be  permitted  to  fight  by  the 
side  of  white  soldiers.  Have  we  not  lived  to  see  that  wish 
realized,  and  will  it  not  be  more  so  in  the  future  ?  Not  at 
Wagner,  not  with  rifle  and  bayonet,  but  on  the  field  of 
peace,  in  the  battle  of  industry,  in  the  struggle  for  good 
government,  in  the  lifting  up  of  the  lowest  to  the  fullest 
opportunities.  In  this  we  shall  fight  by  the  side  of  white 
men  North  and  South.  And  if  this  be  true,  as  under  God's 
guidance  it  will,  that  old  flag,  that  emblem  of  progress  and 
security  which  brave  Sergeant  Carney  never  permitted  to  fall 
upon  the  ground,  will  still  be  borne  aloft  by  southern  soldier 
and  northern  soldier,  and  in  a  more  potent  and  higher  sense 
we  shall  all  realize  that 

"  The  slave's  chain  and  the  master's  alike  are  broken. 
The  one  curse  of  the  races  held  both  in  tether. 
They  are  rising,  all  are  rising. 
The  black  and  the  white  together." 

THE    REVOLUTIONARY    RISING 

By  Thomas  Buchanan  Read,  Artist,  Poet.     Born  in  Chester  County, 
Penn.,  1822;  died  in  New  York  City,  1872. 

Reprinted,  by  permission  of  the  publishers,   from  "  The  Poetical  Works  of  Thomas 
Duchanan  Read;  copyright  i863,  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co.,  Philadelphia. 

Out  of  the  North  the  wild  news  came. 
Far  flashing  on  its  wings  of  flame, 
Swift  as  the  boreal  light  which  flies 
At  midnight  through  the  startled  skies. 
And  there  was  tumujt  in  the  air. 

The  fife's  shrill  note,  the  drum's  loud  beat. 
And  through  the  wide  land  everywhere 

The  answering  tread  of  hurrying  feet; 


l64  THOM.4S  BUCH.4S.tK  KH.-ID 

U'hile  the  first  oath  of  I'rccdom's  pun 
Came  on  the  blast  from  Lexington; 
And  Concord  roused,  no  longer  tame, 
Forgot  lur  old  baptismal  name, 
Made  bare  her  ]>atriot  arm  of  power, 
And  swelled  the  discord  of  the  hour. 

Within  its  shade  of  elm  and  oak 

The  church  of  Berkley  Manor  stoijd ; 
There  Sunday  found  the  rural  folk, 

And  some  esteemed  of  gentle  blood. 

In  vain  their  feet  with  loit'^ring  tread 
Passed  mid  the  graves  where  rank  is  naught; 
All  could  not  read  the  lesson  taught 

In  that  republic  of  tlie  dead. 

How  sweet  the  hour  of  Sabbath  talk, 
The  vale  with  peace  and  sunshine  full, 

Where  all  the  happy  people  walk, 

Decked  in  their  homespun  flax  and  wool, 
Where  youth's  gay  hats  with  blossoms  bloom; 

And  every  maid,  with  simple  art. 

Wears  on  her  breast,  like  her  own  heart, 
A  bud  whose  depths  are  all  perfume; 

\\'hile  every  garment's  gentle  stir 

Is  breathing  rose  and  lavender. 

The  pastor  came;   his  snowy  locks 

Hallowed  his  brow  of  thought  and  care; 

And  calmly,  as  shepherds  lead  their  flocks, 
He  led  into  the  house  of  prayer. 

Then  soon  he  rose;  the  prayer  was  strong; 

The  psalm  was  warrior  David's  song; 

The  text,  a  few  short  words  of  might : 
*'  The  Lord  of  hosts  shall  arm  the  right!  " 

He  spoke  of  wrongs  too  long  endured. 

Of  sacred  rights  to  be  secured; 


THE  RnyOLUriONARY  RISING  165 

Then  from  his  patriot  tongue  of  flame 
The  startling  words  for  Freedom  came. 
The  stirring  sentences  he  spake 
Compelled  the  heart  to  glow  or  quake, 
And,  rising  on  his  theme's  broad  wing, 

And  grasping  in  his  nervous  hand 

The  imaginary  battle-brand, 
In  face  of  death  he  dared  to  fling 
Defiance  to  a  tyrant-king. 

Even  as  he  spoke,  his  frame,  renewed 
In  eloquence  of  attitude, 
Rose,  as  it  seemed,  a  shoulder  higher; 
Then  swept  his  kindling  glance  of  fire 
From  startled  pew  to  breathless  choir; 
When  suddenly  his  mantle  wide 
His  hands  impatient  flung  aside. 
And,  lo!   he  met  their  wondering  eyes 
Complete  in  all  a  warrior's  guise. 

A  moment  there  was  awful  pause — 

When  Berkley  cried,  "Cease,  traitor!  cease; 

God's  temple  is  the  house  of  peace!  " 

The  other  shouted,  "  Nay,  not  so. 
When  God  is  with  our  righteous  cause; 
His  holiest  places  then  are  ours, 
His  temples  are  our  forts  and  towers 

That  frown  upon  the  tyrant  foe; 
In  this,  the  dawn  of  Freedom's  day, 
There  is  a  time  to  fight  and  pray!  " 

And  now  before  the  open  door — 

The  warrior  priest  had  ordered  so — 
The  enlisting  trumpet's  sudden  roar 
Rang  through  the  chapel,  o'er  and  o'er, 

Its  long  reverberating  blow, 


i66  CH.4UNcr.Y  Mirci/rii.  n/ri-ir 

So  loml  aiul  cUiir,  it  seemed  the  oar 
Of  dusty  Dciith  must  wake  and  licar. 
And  there  the  startling;  drum  and  fife 
Fireil  tlie  living  witli  fiercer  life; 
Wliile  overheat!,  with  wilil  increase, 
Forgetting  its  ancient  toll  u(  ])eace, 

The  great  bell  swung  as  ne'er  before. 
It  seemed  as  it  woukl  never  cease: 
An(.l  every  word  its  artlor  lUing 
I'rom  off  its  jubilant  iron  tongue 

Was  "  War!   war!   war!  " 

"  Who  dares" — this  was  tlic  patriot's  cry, 
As  striding  from  the  desk  he  came — 
"  Come  out  with  me,  in  Freedom's  name, 
For  her  to  live,  for  her  to  die  ?  " 
A  hundred  hands  flung  up  reply, 
A  hundred  voices  answered,  "  I!  " 


COLUMBIAN    ORATION 

By  Chauncey  Mitchell  Depew,  Lawyer,  Railroad  President;  United 
States  Senator  from  New  York,  1899 — .  IJoni  in  I'eekskill,  N.  Y., 
1834. 

From  an  oration  delivered  at  the  opening  of  the  World's  Fair,  Chicago,  October  21 
1892.  See  "  Life  and  Later  Speeches  of  Chauncey  M.  Depew,"'  published  in  1804,  by 
the  Cassell  Publishing  Co.,  New  York,  N.  ^■. 

This  day  belongs  not  to  America  but  to  the  world.  'J'he 
results  of  the  day  it  commemorates  are  the  heritage  of  the 
peoples  of  every  race  and  clime,  ^^'e  celebrate  the  emanc'- 
pation  of  man.  The  preparation  was  the  work  of  almost 
countless  centuries;  the  realization  was  the  revelation  of 
one.  The  cross  on  Calvary  was  hope;  the  cross  raised  on 
San  Salvador  was  opportunity.  But  for  the  first  Columbus 
would  never  have  sailed;  but  for  the  second,  there  could 
have  been  no  place  for  the  planting,  the  nurture,  the  expan- 
sion of  civil  and  religious  liberty.      Force  was  the  factor  in 


COLUMBIAN   ORATION  167 

the  government  of  the  world  when  Christ  was  born,  and  force 
was  the  sole  source  and  exercise  of  authority  both  for  Church 
and  State  when  Columbus  sailed  from  Palos, 

The  reign  of  physical  force  is  one  of  perpetual  struggle  for 
the  mastery.  Power  which  rests  upon  the  sword  neither 
shares  nor  limits  its  authority.  The  king  destroyed  the 
lords,  and  the  monarchy  succeeded  feudalism.  Neither  of 
these  institutions  considered  or  consulted  the  people.  They 
had  no  part  but  to  suffer  or  die,  in  this  mighty  strife  of 
masters  for  the  mastery.  The  dungeon  was  ready  for  the 
philosopher  who  proclaimed  the  truths  of  the  solar  system 
or  the  navigator  who  would  prove  the  sphericity  of  the  earth. 
Reason  had  no  seat  in  spiritual  or  temporal  realms.  Punish- 
ment was  the  incentive  to  patriotism  and  piety  was  held 
possible  by  torture.  For  all  that  humanity  to-day  cherishes 
as  its  best  heritage  and  choicest  gifts,  there  was  neither 
thought  nor  hope. 

Fifty  years  before  Columbus  sailed  from  Palos,  Gutenberg 
and  Faust  had  forged  the  hammer  which  was  to  break  the 
bonds  of  superstition  and  open  the  prison-doors  to  the 
mind.  They  had  invented  the  printing-press  and  movable 
types.  The  first  service  of  the  press,  like  all  its  succeeding 
efforts,  was  for  the  people.  The  first-born  of  the  marvelous 
creation  of  these  primitive  printers  of  Mayence  was  the 
printed  Bible.  The  priceless  contributions  of  Greece  and 
Rome  to  the  intellectual  training  and  development  of  the 
modern  world  came  afterward  through  the  same  wondrous 
machine.  The  force,  however,  which  made  possible  America, 
and  its  reflex  influence  upon  Europe,  was  the  open  Bible  by 
the  family  fireside.  And  yet  neither  the  enlightenment  of 
the  new  learning  nor  the  dynamic  power  of  the  spiritual 
awakening  could  break  through  the  crust  of  caste  which  had 
been  forming  for  centuries.  Church  and  State  had  so  firmly 
and  dexterously  interwoven  the  bars  of  privilege  and  authority 
that  liberty  was  impossible  from  within.  Its  piercing  light 
and  fervent  heat  must  jjcnetrate  from  without,      Tiie  time 


168  CHAHNCF.Y   MITCHIU.I    Dl-rilli' 

hail  come  for  the  eiuaiuipation  of  tlu-  iniiul  and  soul  of 
huinaiiity.  The  factors  wantini;  for  its  fuIlUliiR'nt  were  tlie 
new  world  and  its  discoverer. 

God  always  has  in  training  some  commanding  genius  for 
the  control  of  great  crises  in  the  affairs  of  nations  anil 
peoples.  The  number  of  these  leaders  are  less  than  tlie 
centuries,  but  their  livrs  are  the  history  of  human  jirogress. 
Though  C\vsar  and  Cliarlelnagne,  and  llildebrand  and 
Luther,  and  William  the  Conqueror  and  Oliver  Cromwell, 
and  all  the  epoch  makers  prepared  Europe  for  the  event,  ami 
contributed  to  the  result,  the  lights  which  illumine  our 
firmament  to-day  are  Columbus  the  discoverer,  Washington 
the  founder,  and  Lincoln  the  savior. 

Neither  realism  nor  romance  furnishes  a  more  striking  and 
picturesque  figure  than  that  of  Christopher  Columbus.  The 
mystery  about  his  origin  heightens  the  charm  of  his  story. 
That  he  came  from  among  the  toilers  of  his  time  is  in 
harmony  witli  the  struggles  of  our  period.  The  perils  of  the 
sea  in  his  youth  upon  the  rich  argosies  of  Genoa,  or  in  the 
service  of  the  licensed  rovers  who  made  them  their  prey,  had 
developed  a  skillful  navigator  and  intrepid  mariner.  To 
secure  the  means  to  test  the  truth  of  his  speculations  this 
poor  and  unknown  dreamer  must  win  the  support  of  kings 
and  overcome  the  hostility  of  the  Church.  He  never  doubted 
his  ability  to  do  both.  His  unshakable  faith  that  Christopher 
Columbus  was  commissioned  from  Heaven,  both  by  his 
name  and  by  divine  command  to  carry  "  Christ  across  the 
sea"  to  new  continents  and  pagan  peoples,  lifted  him  so  far 
above  the  discouragements  of  an  empty  purse  and  a  con- 
temptuous court  that  he  was  proof  against  the  rebuffs  of 
fortune  or  of  friends.  To  conquer  the  prejudices  of  the 
clergy,  to  win  the  approval  and  financial  support  oi  the 
State,  to  venture  upon  that  unknown  ocean  which,  according 
to  the  beliefs  of  the  age,  was  peopled  with  demons  and 
savage  beasts  of  frightful  shape,  and  from  which  there  was 
no   possibility    of    return,    required    the    zeal   of    Peter    the 


COLUMBIAN   ORATION  1 69 

Hermit,  the  chivalric  courage  of  the  Cid,  and  the  imagina- 
tion of  Dante. 

If  interest  in  the  affairs  of  this  world  is  vouchsafed  to 
those  who  have  gone  before,  the  spirit  of  Columbus  hovers 
over  us  to-day.  Only  by  celestial  intelligence  can  it  grasp 
the  full  significance  of  this  spectacle  and  ceremonial. 

From  the  first  century  to  the  fifteenth  counts  but  little  in 
the  history  of  progress,  but  into  the  period  between  the 
fifteenth  and  the  twentieth  is  crowded  the  romance  and 
reality  of  human  development.  Life  has  been  prolonged 
and  its  enjoyments  intensified.  The  powers  of  the  air  and 
water,  the  resistless  forces  of  the  elements,  which  in  the  time 
of  the  discoverer  were  visible  terrors  of  the  wrath  of  God, 
have  been  subdued  to  the  service  of  man.  Art  and  luxuries 
which  could  be  possessed  and  enjoyed  only  by  the  rich  and 
noble,  the  works  of  genius  which  were  read  and  understood 
only  by  the  learned  few,  domestic  comforts  and  surroundings 
beyond  the  reach  of  lord  or  bishop,  now  adorn  and  illumi- 
nate the  homes  of  our  citizens.  Serfs  are  sovereigns  and  the 
people  are  kings.  The  trophies  and  splendors  of  their  reign 
are  commonwealths,  rich  in  every  attribute  of  States,  and 
united  in  a  Republic  whose  power  and  prosperity  and  liberty 
and  enlightenment  are  the  wonder  and  admiration  of  the 
world. 

All  hail,  Columbus,  discoverer,  dreamer,  hero,  and  apos- 
tle! We  here,  of  every  race  and  country,  recognize  the 
horizon  which  bounded  his  vision  and  the  infinite  scope  of 
his  genius.  The  voice  of  gratitude  and  praise  for  all  the 
blessings  which  have  been  showered  upon  mankind  by 
adventure  is  limited  to  no  language,  but  is  uttered  in  every 
tongue.  Neither  marble  nor  brass  can  fitly  form  his  statue. 
Continents  are  his  monument,  and  unnumbered  millions, 
past,  present,  and  to  come,  who  enjoy  in  their  liberties  and 
their  happiness  the  fruits  of  his  faith,  will  reverently  guard 
and  preserve,  from  century  to  century,  his  name  and  fame. 


170  Hi:NKy   C.-fliOT  lODGF. 


MASSACHUSETTS 

\\y  Hf.NRY  CaHoT  Lodcjk,  L;uvycr,  IMitor,  Aullior;  McmliL-r  of  Con- 
gress from  M.iss.icliiisetts,  18S6-93;  Senator,  1S93 — .  IJorii  in 
liostoi),  M.iss.,   1S50. 

Taken,  by  permission  of  tlie  .luthor,  from  the  closing  speech  in  deb.ite  witli  Hon. 
John  K.  Kussell.  in  Boston,  Mass.,  October  23,  18)1.  See  "Speeches  of  Henry 
Cabot  Lodge,"  copyright  iSwj,  by  H.  C.  Lodge,  published  by  Houghton,  .Mifflin  &  <."o., 
Hoston. 

To  all  who  ilwill  within  her  coiilincs,  llic  ok!  State 
[.Ma.>^.^acluiscttsJ  is  very,  very  dear.  Slic  has  a  right  to  our 
lovc  and  pride.  "Behold  her  and  judge  for  yourselves." 
Here  she  is,  a  queen  among  commonwealths,  enthroned 
amidst  her  hills  and  streams,  with  the  ocean  at  her  feet. 
Trade  is  in  her  marts  and  prayer  within  her  temples.  Her 
cities  stir  with  busy  life.  Her  wealth  grows,  beyond  the 
dreams  of  avarice.  Her  rivers  turn  the  wheels  of  industry, 
and  the  smoke  of  countless  chimneys  tells  the  story  of  the 
inventor's  genius  and  the  w'orkman's  skill.  But  the  material 
side  is  the  least  of  it.  We  rejoice  mightily  in  her  prosperity, 
but  our  love  and  pride  are  touched  by  nobler  themes.  We 
love  the  old  State.  The  sand-hills  of  the  Cape,  with  the 
gulls  wheeling  over  the  waste  of  waters;  the  gray  ledges  and 
green  pastures  of  Esse.x,  with  the  seas  surging  forever  on  her 
rocks;  the  broad  and  fruitful  valleys  of  the  Connecticut;  the 
dark  hills  and  murmuring  streams  of  Berkshire,  have  to  us  a 
tender  charm  no  other  land  can  give.  They  breathe  to  us 
the  soft  message  that  tells  of  home  and  country.  Still  it  is 
something  more  than  the  look  of  hill  and  dale,  something 
deeper  than  habit  which  stirs  our  hearts  when  we  think  of 
Massachusetts.  Behind  the  outward  form  of  things  lies  that 
which  passeth  show.  It  is  in  the  history  of  Massachusetts, 
in  the  lives  of  her  great  men,  in  the  sacrifices,  in  the  deeds, 
and  in  the  character  of  her  people  that  we  find  the  true  secret 
of  our  love  and  pride.  We  may  not  explain  it  even  to  our- 
selves, but  it  is  there  in  the  good  old  name,  and  flushes  into 
life  at  the  sight  of  the  white  flag.      Massachusetts!     Utter 


MASS.^CHUSE  TTS  1 7 1 

but  the  word  and  what  memories  throng  upon  her  children! 
Here  came  the  stern,  God-fearing  men  to  find  a  home  and 
found  a  State.  Here,  ahiiost  where  we  stand,  on  the  edge 
of  the  wilderness,  was  placed  the  first  public  school. 
Yonder,  across  the  river,  where  the  track  of  the  savage  still 
lingered  and  the  howl  of  the  wolf  was  still  heard,  was  planted 
tlie  first  college.  Here,  through  years  of  peril  and  privation, 
with  much  error  and  failure,  but  ever  striving  and  marching 
onward,  the  Puritans  built  their  State.  It  was  this  old  town 
that  first  resisted  England  and  bared  its  breast  to  receive  the 
hostile  spears.  In  the  fields  of  Middlesex  the  first  blood  was 
shed  in  the  American  Revolution.  On  the  slopes  of  Bunker 
Hill  the  British  troops  first  recoiled  under  American  fire. 
Massachusetts  was  the  first  great  Commonwealth  to  resist 
the  advance  of  slavery,  and  in  the  mighty  war  for  the  Union 
she  had  again  the  sad  honor  to  lay  the  first  blood-offering 
on  the  altar  of  the  nation.  This  is  the  State  that  Winthrop 
founded.  Warren  died  for  her  liberties,  and  Webster 
defended  her  good  name.  Sumner  bore  stripes  in  behalf  of 
her  beliefs,  and  her  sons  gave  their  lives  on  every  battlefield 
for  the  one  flag  she  held  more  sacred  than  her  own.  She 
has  fought  for  liberty.  She  has  done  justice  between  man 
and  man.  She  has  sought  to  protect  the  weak,  to  save  the 
erring,  to  raise  the  unfortunate.  She  has  been  the  fruitful 
mother  of  ideas  as  of  men.  Her  thought  has  followed  the 
sun  and  been  felt  throughout  the  length  of  the  land.  May 
we  not  say,  as  Charles  Fox  said  of  Switzerland,  "  Every  man 
should  desire  once  in  his  life  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to 
Massachusetts,  the  land  of  liberty  and  peace"  .?  She  has 
kept  her  shield  unspotted  and  her  honor  pure.  To  us,  her 
loving  children,  she  is  a  great  heritage  and  a  great  trust. 


17*  "■//-/    (..■IKl.inON 


THE    DEATH-BRIDGE    OE   THE    TAY 

Hy    Will     (AKiKioN.    I.fCluifi.    Journalist,    Author,     I'oct.       Hi>r:i  in 
Hudson,  Mich.,  1S45;   living  in  UnKjklyTi,  N.  V. 

From   "  Farm    Festivals,"   by  Will    C.nrlcton.     Copyright,  1881,  1898,  by  Iliiri)er  »t 
Krothers,  New  \'ork. 

The  ni^ht   ami  tlic  storm  fell   together  upon  the  old  town  of 

Dinulee, 
And,  trembling,  the  mighty  lirth-river  held  out  its  cokl  hajul 

toward  the  sea. 
Like  the  dull-booming  bolts  of  a  cannon,  tlie  wind   swept 

the  streets  and  the  shores; 
It  wrenched  at  the  roofs  and  the  chimneys,  it  crashed  'gainst 

the  windows  and  doors; 
Like  a  mob  that  is  drunken  and  frenzied,  it  surged  through 

the  streets  up  and  down. 
And  screamed  the  sharp,  shrill  cry  of  "  ^lurder!  "  o'er  river 

and  hill-top  and  town. 
It  leaned  its  great  breast  'gainst  the  belfries,  it  perched  uj)on 

minaret  and  dome — 
Then  sprang  on  the   shivering  firth-river,    and   tortured    its 

waves  into  foam. 
'Twas  a  night  when   the  landsman  seeks  shelter,  and  cares 

not  to  venture  abroad ; 
When  the  sailor  clings  close  to  the  rigging,  and  prays  for 

the  mercy  of  God. 

Along    the   shore-line    creeps    the    city,     in    crouching    and 

sinuous  shape, 
With    firesides   so   soon  to  be    darkened,    and    doors  to   be 

shaded  with  crape! 
To  the  south,  like  a  spider-thread  waving,  there  curves,  for 

a  two-mile  away. 
This  world's  latest    man-devised    wonder, — the    far-famous 

bridge  of  the  Tay. 


THE   DE^TH-BRIDGE   OF   THE    TAY  173 

It  stretches  and  g'eams  into   distance;  it  creeps  the  ijroad 

stream  o'er  and  o'er, 
Till   it   rests  its  strong,  delicate   fingers  in  the  palm  of  the 

opposite  shore. 
But  look!  through  the  mists  of  the  southward,  tiiere  flash  to 

the  eye,  clear  and  plain, 
Like  a  meteor  that's  bound  to  destruction,  the  lights  of  a 

swift-coming  train! 


'jMid    the    lights   that    so   gayly   are   gleaming    yon    city   of 

Dundee  within, 
Is  one  that  is  waiting  a  wanderer,  who  long  o'er  the  ocean 

has  been. 
His  age-burdened  parents    are  watching   from    the  window 

that  looks  on  the  firth, 
For  the  train  that  will  come  with  their  darling, — their  truest- 
loved  treasure  on  earth. 
"  He'll  be  comin'  the  nicht, "  says  the  father,  "  for  sure  the 

handwritin's  his  ain; 
The   letter  says,  '  Ha'  the    lamp  lichted — I'll   come  on  the 

seven-o'clock  train. 
For  years  in  the  mines  I've  been  toiling,  in  this  wonderfu' 

West,  o'er  the  sea; 
My  work  has  brought  kingly  wages;  there's  j)lenty  for  you 

an'  for  me. 
Your    last    days    shall    e'en    be  your  best    days;    the   high- 
stepping  youngster  you  knew, 
Who  cost  so  much  care  in  his  raising,  now'll  care  for  himself 

and  for  you. 
Gang  not  to  the  station  to  meet  me;  ye  never  need  run  for 

me  more; 
But  when  ye  shall  hear  the  gate  clickit,  ye  maun  rise  up  an' 

open  the  door. 
We  will  hae  the  first  glow  of  our  greeting  when  nae  one  o' 

strancrers  l)c  nigh. 


174  "v//  c.fR/rroN 

\\\'  will  sniik-  (Mit  tlio  joy  o'  our  imt-tin<::  on    the  s]>ot  where 

we  wept  our  i^ood-bye. 
Ve  maun   put  me  ii  plate  on   the  table,  an'  set  in   the  auld 

place  a  chair; 
An'  if  but  the  good    T.ord  be  willing,  doubt   never  a  bit    I'll 

be  tliere. 
So  sit  ye  an'  wait  for  my  eoming  (ye  will   na'  watch  for  me 

in  vain), 
An'  see  me  glide  over  the  river,  along  o'  the  roar  of  the  train. 
Ve  mav  sit  at  the  southernmost   window,    for  I   will   come 

hame  from  that  way; 
I  will  fly  where  I  swam,  when  a  youngster,  across  the  broad 

Firth  o'  the  Tay. ' 

So  they  sit  at  the  southernmost  window,  the  parents,  with 
hand  clasped  in  hand. 

And  gaze  o'er  the  tempest-vexed  waters,  across  to  the 
storm-shaken  land. 

They  see  the  bold  acrobat-monster  creep  out  on  tlie  treacher- 
ous line; 

Its  cinder-breath  glitters  like  star-dust,  its  lamp-eyes  they 
glimmer  and  shine. 

It  braces  itself  'gainst  the  tempest — it  fights  for  each  inch 
with  the  foe — 

With  torrents  of  air  all  around  it — with  torrents  of  water 
below. 

^ut  look!  look!  the  monster  is  stumbling,  while  trembles 
the  fragile  bridge- wall — 

They  struggle  like  athletes  entwining — then  both  like  a 
thunderbolt  fall ! 

Dow^n,  down  through  the  dark  the  train  plunges,  with  speed 
unaccustomed  and  dire; 

It  glows  with  its  last  dying  beauty— it  gleams  like  a  hail- 
storm of  fire! 

No  wonder  the  mother  faints  death-like,  and  clings  like  a 
clod  to  the  floor; 


THE  DEATH-BRIDGE   OF   THE    TAY  175 

No  wonder  the  man  writhes  in  frenzy,  and  dashes  his  way 

through  the  door! 
He  fights  his  way  out  through  the  tempest;  he  is  beaten  and 

i)affied  and  tossed ; 
He  cries,    "  The   train's  gang  off  the  Tay  brig!   lend  help 

here  to  look  for  the  lost!  " 
Oh,  little  to  him  do  they  listen,  the  crowds  to  the  river  that 

flee; 
The   news,    like  the   shock  of    an   earthquake,    has  thrilled 

through  the  town  of  Dundee. 
Like   travelers   belated,    they're   rushing  to  where  the  bare 

station-walls  frown; 
Suspense  twists  the  blade  of  their  anguish,  like  maniacs  they 

run  up  and  down. 
Out,  out,  creep  two  brave,  sturdy  fellows,  o'er  danger-strewn 

buttress  and  piers; 
They  can  climb  'gainst  that  blast,  for  they  carry  the  blood 

of  old  Scotch  mountaineers. 
But  they  leave  it  along  as  they  clamber;  they  mark  all  their 

hand-path  with  red; 
Till  they  come  where  the  torrent  leaps  bridgeless, — a  grave 

dancing  over  its  dead. 
A  moment  they  gaze  down  in  horror;  then  creep  from  the 

death-laden  tide. 
With  the  news,  "  There's  nae  help  for  our  loved  ones,  save 

God's  mercy  for  them  who  have  died!  " 

How  sweetly  the  sunlight  can  sparkle  o'er  graves  where  our 
best  hopes  have  lain! 

How  brightly  its  gold  beams  can  glisten  on  faces  that  whiten 
with  pain ! 

Oh,  never  more  gay  were  the  wavelets,  and  careless  in  inno- 
cent glee, 

And  never  more  sweet  did  the  sunrise  shine  over  the  town 
of  Dundee. 


i7<s  /r//./.  c.-iRi.rTON 

But   tluniph   the  town  wclcomcil  the  inorninp,  ami  tl)c  firth 

threw  its  gold  lances  back. 
On   the   hearts   of  the   grief-stricken   people  deatli's   cloud 

rested  heavy  and  black. 
And  the  couple  who  waited  last  evening  their  nian-statured 

son  to  accost, 
Now  laid   their  heads  down  on  the  table,  and   mourned  for 

the  boy  that  was  lost. 
"  'Twas  saevad,"  moaned  the  crushed,  aged  mother,  each 

word  dripping  o'er  with  a  tear, 
"  Sae  far  he  should  come  for  to  find   us,  and  then  he  should 

perish  sae  near! 

0  Robin,  my  bairn !  ye  did  wander  far  from  us  for  mony  a 

day, 
And  when  ye  ha'  come  back  sae  near  us,  why  could  na'  ye 
come  a'  the  way  ?  " 

"  I  /itie  come  a'  the  way,"  said  a  strong  voice,  and  a  bearded 

and  sun-beaten  face 
Smiled  on  them   the  first  joyous  pressure  of  one  long  and 

filial  embrace: 
"  I  cam'  on  last  niclit  far  as  Newport;  but  iMaggie,  my  bride 

that's  to  be, 
She  ran  through  the   storm  to  the  station,  to  get  the   first 

greeting  o'  me. 

1  leaped  from  the  carriage  to  kiss  her;  .she  held  me  sae  fast 

and  sae  ticht, 
The  train  it  ran  off  and  did  leave  me;   I  could  na'   get  <^ver 

the  nicht. 
I  tried  for  to  walk  the  brig  over,  my  liead  it  was  a'  in  a 

whirl ; 
I  could  na' — ye  know  the  sad  reason — I  had  to  go  back  to 

my  girl ! 
I  hope  ye' 11  tak'   kindly  to  Maggie;  she's  promised  to  soon 

be  my  wife; 


AGENCIES  IN   OUR   NylTION/lL    PROGRESS  177 

She's  a  darling  wee  bit  of  a  lassie,  and  her  fondness  it  saved 
me  my  life. " 

The  night  and  the  storm  fell  together  upon  the  sad  town  of 

Dundee; 
The  half-smothered  song  of  the  tempest  swept  out  like  a  sob 

to  the  sea; 
The  voice  of  the  treacherous  storm-king,  as   mourning  for 

them  he  had  slain; 
O  cruel  and  bloodthirsty  tempest!  your  false  tears  are  shed 

all  in  vain ! 

****** 

Thank    God    that    whatever    the   darkness  that   covers    His 

creature's  dim  sight, 
He  always  vouchsafes'  some  deliverance,  throws  some  one  a 

sweet  ray  of  light; 
Thank  God  that  His  well-tempered  mercy  came  down  with 

the  clouds  from  above. 
And  saved  one  from  out  the  destruction,  and  him  by  the 

angel  of  love. 

AGENCIES   IN   OUR   NATIONAL   PROGRESS 

By  Alexander  Keixy  McClure,  Editor,  Lawyer,  Statesman,  Author; 
Editor-in-Chief  of  Philadelphia  Times,  1873 — . 

From  an  address  before  the  literary  societies  of  Dickinson  College,  June  26,  1873. 
See  Cooper's  "  American  Politics,"  published  in  1883  by  The  Fireside  Publishing  Co., 
Philadelphia,  Penn.     By  permission  of  the  author. 

When  we  search  for  the  agencies  of  the  great  epochs  in 
our  national  progress,  we  look  not  to  the  accidents  of  place. 
Unlike  all  other  governments,  ours  is  guided  supremely  by 
intelligent  and  educated  public  convictions,  and  those  who 
are  clothed  with  authority  are  but  the  exponents  of  the  pop- 
ular will.  Herein  is  the  source  of  safety  and  advancement 
of  our  free  institutions.  On  every  hand,  in  the  ranks  of 
people,  are  the  tireless  teachers  of  our  destiny.  Away  in  the 
forefront  of  every  struggle  are  to  be  found  the  masters  who 


17^  jiFXJsnrR  Kr.ii.Y  mc/.urb 

brave   passion  and   jirojiulicc  and  intcn-st,  in  the  perfection 
of  our  nationality. 

Our  free  press  rcacliing  into  almost  every  liamlet  of  the 
land;  our  colleges  now  reared  in  every  section;  our  schools 
with  open  doors  to  all;  our  churches  teaching  every  faith, 
with  the  protection  of  the  law;  our  citizens  endowed  with 
the  sacred  right  of  freedom  of  speech  and  action;  our  rail- 
roads spanning  the  continent,  climbing  our  mountains,  and 
stretching  into  our  valleys;  our  telegraphs  making  every 
community  the  center  of  the  worUl's  daily  records — these  are 
the  agencies  which  are  omnipotent  in  the  expression  of  our 
national  purposes  and  duties.  I'hus  directed  and  main- 
tained, our  free  government  has  braved  foreign  and  domestic 
war,  and  been  purified  and  strengthened  in  the  crucible  of 
conflict.  It  has  grown  from  a  few  feeble  States  east  of  the 
Ohio  wilderness  to  a  vast  continent  of  commonwealths,  and 
forty  millions  of  population.  It  has  made  freedom  as  uni- 
versal as  its  authority  within  its  vast  possessions.  The  laws 
of  inequality  and  caste  are  blotted  from  its  statutes.  It 
reaches  the  golden  slopes  of  the  Pacific  with  its  beneficence, 
and  makes  beauty  and  plenty  in  the  valleys  of  the  mountains 
on  the  sunset  side  of  the  Father  of  Waters.  P'rom  the  cool 
lakes  of  the  North  to  the  sunny  gulfs  of  the  South,  and  from 
the  eastern  seas  to  the  waters  that  wash  the  lands  of  the 
pagan,  a  homogeneous  people  obey  one  constitution  and 
are  devoted  to  one  country. 

Nor  have  its  agencies  and  influences  been  limited  to  our 
own  boundaries.  The  whole  accessible  world  has  felt  its 
power  and  paid  tribute  to  its  excellence.  Europe  has  been 
convulsed  from  center  to  circumference  by  the  resistless 
throbbings  of  oppressed  peoples  for  the  liberty  they  cannot 
know  and  could  not  maintain.  The  proud  Briton  has 
imitated  his  wayward  but  resolute  child,  and  now  rules  his 
own  throne.  France  has  sung  the  Marseillaise,  her  anthem 
of  freedom,  and  waded  through  blood  in  iil-directed  struggles 
'or  her  discnthrallment.      The  scattered  tribes  of  the  Father- 


THE  POIVHR   OF  HABIT  179 

land  now  worship  at  the  altar  of  (ierman  unity,  with  a 
liberalized  Empire.  The  sad  song  of  the  serf  is  no  longer 
heard  from  the  children  of  the  Czar.  Italy,  dismembered 
and  tempest- tossed  through  centuries,  again  ordains  her  laws 
in  the  Eternal  City,  under  a  monarch  of  her  choice.  The 
throne  and  the  inspiration  of  freedom  has  unsettled  the  title 
of  despotism  to  the  Spanish  scepter.  The  trained  lightning 
flashes  the  lessons  of  our  civilization  to  the  home  of  the 
Pyramids;  the  land  of  the  heathen  has  our  teachers  in  its 
desolate  places,  and  the  God  of  Day  sets  not  upon  the 
boundless  triumphs  of  our  government  of  the  people. 


THE    POWER   OF   HABIT 

By  John    Bartholomew    Gough,    celebrated    Temperance   Lecturer. 
Born  in  Sandgate,  England,  1817;  died  at  Frankford,  Penn.,  1886. 

Reprinted,   by  permission  of   the  publishers,   from   ''Platform  Echoes,"  copyright 
1887,  by  A.  D.  Worthington  &  Co.,  Hartford,  Conn. 

I  remember  once  riding  from  Buffalo  to  the  Niagara  Falls. 
I  said  to  a  gentleman,  "  What  river  is  that,  sir  ?  "  "  That," 
he  said,  "  is  the  Niagara  River."  "  Well,  it  is  a  beautiful 
stream,"  said  I,  "  bright,  and  fair,  and  glassy.  How  far  off 
are  the  rapids?"  "  Only  a  mile  or  two,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Is  it  possible  that  only  one  mile  from  us  we  shall  find  the 
water  in  the  turbulence  which  it  must  show  near  to  the 
Falls  .?  "      "  You  will  find  it  so,  sir." 

And  so  I  found  it;  and  the  first  sight  of  Niagara  Falls  I 
shall  never  forget. 

Now  launch  your  bark  on  that  Niagara  River;  it  is  bright, 
smooth,  beautiful,  and  glassy.  There  is  a  ripple  at  the  bow ; 
the  silver  wake  you  leave  behind  adds  to  your  enjoyment. 
Down  the  stream  you  glide,  oars,  sails,  and  helm  in  proper 
trim  ;  and  you  set  out  on  your  pleasure  excursion.  Suddenly 
some  one  cries  out  from  the  bank,  "  Young  men,  ahoyl  " 

"What  is  it?" 

"  The  rapids  are  below  you," 


iSo  jOHx  n.-iRTnoiOMFir  corcn 

"  Ha,  ha!  We  have  heard  of  the  rapids;  but  we  are  not 
such  fools  as  to  get  tljcrc.  If  we  go  too  fast,  then  we  >hall 
up  with  the  helm,  and  steer  to  the  shore;  we  will  set  tlie 
ina>t  in  the  socket,  hoist  the  sail,  ami  speed  to  the  land. 
Then  on,  boys;  don't  be  alarmed;   there  is  no  danger," 

"  Young  men,  ahoy,  there!  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  ■' 

"  The  rapids  are  below  you! 

"  lla.  ha!  Wc  shall  laui^li  and  (pialf;  all  things  delight 
us.  What  care  we  for  the  future  ?  No  man  ever  saw  it. 
Sulhcient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof,  \\'e  w^ill  enjoy  life 
while  we  may;  will  catch  pleasure  as  it  flies.  This  is  enjoy- 
ment; time  enough  to  steer  out  of  danger  when  we  are  sail- 
ing swiftly  with  the  current." 

"  Young  men,  ahoy!  " 

"  What  is  it  .?  " 

"Beware!  beware!     The  rapids  are  below  you.  " 

Now  you  see  the  water  foaming  all  around.  See  how  fast 
you  pass  that  point!  Up  with  the  helm!  Now  turn.  Pull 
hard!  quick!  quick!  quick!  pull  for  your  lives;  pull  till  the 
blood  starts  from  your  nostrils,  and  the  veins  stand  like 
whip-cords  upon  your  brow.  Set  the  mast  in  the  socket! 
Hoist  the  sail!  Ah!  ah!  it  is  too  late!  Shrieking,  cursing, 
howling,  blaspheming,  over  they  go. 

Thousands  go  over  the  rapids  every  year,  through  the 
power  of  habit,  crying  all  the  while,  "  \\'hen  I  find  out  that 
it  is  injuring  me,  I  will  give  it  up." 

We  see  sometimes,  on  our  city  streets,  placards  posted, 
"Lost!  Lost!  Lost!"  And  1  stop  sometimes  to  think 
of  the  cherished  treasure  that  is  gone,  the  heartache  at  its 
loss,  the  longing  for  its  return.  (Jn  those  same  streets  w^e 
hear  sometimes,  in  the  calm  of  the  evening's  deepening 
twilight,  the  ringing  of  the  crier's  bell,  and  his  shrill  voice, 
shouting,  "Child  lost!  Child  lost!"  Yes!  a  child  lost, 
away  from  the  comfort  and  brightness  of  home,  gone  from 
the  father's  smile  and  the  mother's  fond  embrace,  strayed 


O   CAPTAIN!    MY   CAPTAIN!  l8l 

out  into  the  night,  ah^nc,  amid  its  dreary,  coming  blackness. 
But  the, lost  treasure  is  merely  material;  and  the  child  is  still 
in  the  pathway  of  loving  humanity,  still  within  the  enfolding 
arms  of  an  all-loving  God. 

But  the  drunkards!  Lost!  lost!  lost!  fathers,  brothers, 
husbands,  sons,  lost  to  friends,  to  families,  to  loved  ones, 
to  society;  lost  to  the  world,  to  the  church;  and  lost,  for- 
ever lost,  from  the  circle  of  the  redeemed  that  shall  gather 
around  God's  throne — over  the  rapids,  and  lost. 


O  CAPTAIN!      MY   CAPTAIN! 

By  Walt  Whitman,   Poet.     Born  at  West  Hills,  Long  Island,  N.  Y., 
1819;  died  at  Camden,  N.  J.,  1892. 

This  poem,  as  is  well   known,  refers  to  Abraham  Lincoln.     By  permission  of  pub- 
lisher, David  McKay,  Philadelphia. 

O  captain!   my  captain!   our  fearful  trip  is  done. 

The  ship  has  weathered  every  rock,  the  prize  we  sought  is 

won. 
The  port  is  near,  the  bells  I  hear,  the  people  all  exulting, 
While  follow  eyes  the  steady  keel,  the  vessel  grim  and  daring; 

But  0  heart!   heart!   heart! 

O  the  bleeding  drops  of  red. 

Where  on  the  deck  my  captain  lies, 

Fallen  cold  and  dead. 

O  captain!  my  captain!  rise  up  and  hear  the  bells; 

Rise  up — for  you  the  flag  is  flung — for  you  the  bugle  trills. 

For  you  bouquets  and  ribbon'd  wreaths — for  you  the  shores 

a-crowding. 
For  you  the  call,  the  swaying  mass,  their  eager  faces  turning,- 

Hear  captain!   dear  father! 

This  arm  beneath  your  head! 

It  is  some  dream  there  on  the  deck, 

You've  fallen  cold  and  dead. 


iSj  gf.orgi-  iiri\-iRn 

My  captain  docs  not  answer,  liis  lips  \\w  pile  and  still, 
My  father  docs  not  feci  my  arm,  he  lias  no  pulse  nor  will, 
The  ship  is  anchor'd  safe  ami  snuml,  its  voyage  closeil  and 

done, 
l"ri>ni  Icarfid  trip  the  victor  ship  comes  in  with  object  won; 

I'.xult  ()  shores,  ami  ring  O  hells! 

Hut  1  with  mournful  tread, 

Walk,  the  ileck  my  captain  lies, 

Fallen  cold  and  deacl. 


THE    RIDER    OF   THE    BLACK    HORSE 

By  Georc.E  Ln'PARU,  Author.      Born  near  Velhjw  Springs,  Penn.,  1822; 
died  in  Pliil;i(lel]-)hi;i,   1S54. 

It  was  the  7th  of  October,  1777.  Horatio  Gates  stood 
before  his  tent,  gazing  steadfastly  npon  the  two  armies  now 
arrayed  in  order  of  battle.  It  was  a  clear,  bracing  day, 
mellow  with  the  richness  of  autumn.  I'he  sky  was  cloud- 
less; the  foliage  of  the  wood  scarce  tinged  with  purple  and 
gold;  the  buckwheat  in  yonder  fields  frostened  into  snowy 
ripeness.  But  the  tread  of  legions  shook  the  ground;  from 
every  bush  shot  the  glimmer  of  the  rifle  barrel;  on  every 
hillside  blazed  the  sharpened  bayonet.  Gates  was  sad  and 
thoughtful,  as  he  watched  the  evolutions  of  the  two  armies. 
But  all  at  once,  a  smoke  arose,  a  thunder  shook  the  ground, 
and  a  chorus  of  shouts  and  groans  yelled  along  the  darkened 
air.  The  play  of  death  had  begun.  The  two  flags,  this  of 
the  stars,  that  of  the  red  cross,  tossed  amid  the  smoke  of 
battle,  while  the  sky  was  clouded  w'ith  leaden  folds,  and  the 
earth  throbbed  with  the  pulsations  of  a  mighty  heart. 

Suddenly,  Gates  and  his  offlcers  were  startled.  Along  the 
height  on  which  they  stood  came  a  rider  on  a  black  horse, 
rushing  towards  the  distant  battle.  There  was  something  in 
the  appearance  of  this  horse  and  his  rider  that  struck  them 
with  surprise.  Look!  he  draws  his  sword,  the  sharp  blade 
quivers  through  the  air — he  points  to  the  distant  battle,  and 


THE  RIDER   OF   THE  BLACK  HORSE  183 

lo!  he  is  gone;  gone  through  those  clouds,  while  his  shout 
echoes  over  the  plains.  Wherever  the  fight  is  thickest,  there 
through  intervals  of  cannon-smoke  you  may  see  riding 
madly  forward  that  strange  soldier,  mounted  on  his  steed 
black  as  death.  Look  at  him,  as  with  face  red  with  British 
blood  he  waves  his  sword  and  shouts  to  his  legions.  Now 
you  may  see  him  fighting  in  that  cannon's  glare,  and  the 
next  moment  he  is  away  off  yonder,  leading  the  forlorn  hope 
up  that  steep  cliff.  Is  it  not  a  magnificent  sight,  to  see  that 
strange  soldier  and  that  noble  black  horse  dashing,  like  a 
meteor,  down  the  long  columns  of  battle  1 

Let  us  look  for  a  moment  into  those  dense  war-clouds. 
Over  this  thick  hedge  bursts  a  band  of  American  militiamen, 
their  rude  farmer-coats  stained  with  blood,  while  scattering 
their  arms  by  the  way,  they  flee  before  that  company  of  red- 
coat hirelings,  who  come  rushing  forward,  their  solid  front 
of  bayonets  gleaming  in  the  battle  light.  At  this  moment 
of  their  flight,  a  horse  comes  crashing  over  the  plains.  The 
unknov/n  rider  reins  his  steed  back  on  his  haunches,  right 
in  the  path  of  a  broad-shouldered  militiaman.  "  Now, 
cowards!  advance  another  step  and  Lll  strike  you  to  the 
heart!"  shouts  the  unknown,  extending  a  pistol  in  either 
hand.  "What!  are  you  Americans,  men,  and  fly  before 
British  soldiers  .^  Back  again,  and  face  them  once  more,  or 
I  myself  will  ride  you  down." 

This  appeal  was  not  without  its  effect.  The  militiaman 
turns;  his  comrades,  as  if  by  one  impulse,  follow  his  exam- 
ple. In  one  line,  but  thirty  men  in  all,  they  confront  thirty 
sharp  bayonets.  The  British  advance.  "  Now  upon  the 
rebels,  charge !  ' '  shouts  the  red-coat  officer.  They  spring 
forward  at  the  same  bound.  Look !  their  bayonets  almost 
touch  the  muzzles  of  their  rifles.  At  this  moment  the  voice 
of  the  unknown  rider  was  heard:  "Now  let  them  have  it! 
Fire!  "  A  sound  is  heard,  a  smoke  is  seen,  twenty  Britons 
are  down,  some  writhing  in  death,  some  crawling  along  the 
soil,  and  some  speechless  as  stone,     I'bc  remaining  ten  start 


184  CEORcn  urr.-iRD 

back.  "  Club  your  rillos  ami  charge  thcin  home!  "  shouts 
the  unknown.  'I'luit  bhick  horse  springs  forward,  followed 
by  the  militiamen.  Tlun  a  confused  conflict,  a  crv  for 
quarter,  and  a  visii)n  of  twenty  farmers  grouped  anniiul  the 
rider  of  the  black  horse,  greeting  him  with  cheers. 

Thus  it  was  all  the  day  long.  Wherever  that  black  horse 
and  his  rider  went,  there  followed  victory.  At  last,  towards 
the  setting  of  the  sun,  the  crisis  of  the  conflict  came.  That 
fortress  yonder,  on  IJemus'  Ileighrs,  must  be  won,  or  the 
American  cause  is  lost!  That  cliff  is  too  steep — that  death 
is  too  certain.  The  oflicers  cannot  persuade  the  men  to 
advance.  Tlie  Americans  have  lost  the  field.  Even  Morgan, 
that  iron  man  among  iron  men,  leans  on  his  rifle  and 
despairs  of  the  field.  But  look  yonder!  In  this  moment 
when  all  is  dismay  and  horror,  here  crashing  on,  comes  the 
black  horse  and  his  rider.  That  rider  bends  upon  his  steed, 
his  frenzied  face  covered  with  sweat  and  dust  and  blood;  he 
lays  his  hand  upon  that  bold  rifleman's  shoulder  and  as 
though  living  fire  had  been  poured  into  his  veins,  he  seizes 
his  rifle  and  starts  toward  the  rock.  And  now  look!  now 
hold  your  breath,  as  that  black  steed  crashes  up  that  steep 
cliff.  That  steed  quivers!  he  totters!  befalls!  No!  No! 
Still  on,  still  up  the  cliff,  still  on  towards  the  fortress.  The 
rider  turns  his  face  and  shouts,  "  Come  on,  men  of  Quebec! 
come  on!  "  That  call  is  needless.  Already  the  bold  rifle- 
men are  on  the  rock.  Now  British  cannon  pour  your  fires, 
and  lay  your  dead  in  tens  and  twenties  on  the  rock.  Now, 
red-coat  hirelings,  shout  your  battle-cry  if  you  can!  For 
look !  there,  in  the  gate  of  the  fortress,  as  the  smoke  clears 
away,  stands  the  black  horse  and  his  rider.  That  steed 
falls  dead,  pierced  by  an  hundred  balls;  but  his  rider,  as  the 
British  cry  for  quarter,  lifts  up  his  voice  and  shouts  afar  to 
Horatio  Gates  waiting  yonder  in  his  tent,  "Saratoga  is 
won!  "  As  that  cry  goes  up  to  heaven,  he  falls  with  his  leg 
shattered  by  a  cannon-ball. 

Who  was  the  rider  of  the  black  horse  }    Do  you  not  guess 


AGAINST  IMPERIALISM  1S5 

his  name  ?  Then  bend  down  and  gaze  on  that  shattered 
limb;  and  you  will  see  that  it  bears  the  mark  of  a  former 
wound.  The  wound  was  received  in  the  storming  of 
Quebec.     The  rider  of  the  black  horse  was  Benedict  Arnold. 


AGAINST    IMPERIALISM 

By  George  Fkisbie  Hoak,  Lawyer;  Member  of  Congress  from  Massa- 
chusetts,  1868-76;  Senator,  1877 — .     Born  in  Concord,  Mass.,  1826. 

From  a  speech  delivered  in  the  Senate,  April  17,  igoo.     See  daily  papers  of  Boston, 
April  18,  1900;  also  Congressionnl  Record,  April  17,  1900. 

It  is  claimed  that  these  appeals  for  imperialism  have  the 
sympathy  of  the  American  people.  It  is  said  that  the  states- 
man who  will  lay  his  ear  to  the  ground  will  hear  their  voice, 
I  do  not  believe  it.  The  voice  of  the  American  people  does 
not  come  from  the  ground.  It  comes  from  the  sky.  It 
comes  from  the  free  air.  It  comes  from  the  mountains, 
where  liberty  dwells.  Let  the  statesman  who  is  fit  to  deal 
with  the  question  of  liberty  or  to  utter  the  voice  of  a  free 
people  lift  his  ear  to  the  sky — not  lay  it  to  the  ground. 

Mr.  President,  it  was  once  my  good  fortune  to  witness  an 
impressive  spectacle  in  this  chamber,  when  the  senators 
answered  to  their  names  in  rendering  solemn  judgment  in  a 
great  State  trial.  By  a  special  provision  each  senator  was 
permitted,  when  he  cast  his  vote,  to  state  his  reason  in  a 
single  sentence.  I  have  sometimes  fancied  that  the  question 
before  us  now  might  be  decided  not  alone  by  the  votes  of 
us  who  sit  here  to-day,  but  of  the  great  men  who  have  been 
our  predecessors  in  this  chamber  and  in  the  Continental 
Congress  from  the  beginning  of  the  Republic. 

Would  that  that  roll  might  be  called.  The  solemn 
assembly  sits  silent  while  the  chair  puts  the  question  whose 
answer  is  so  fraught  with  the  hopes  of  liberty  and  the  destiny 
of  the  Republic. 

The  roll  is  called.  George  Washington:  "No.  Why 
should  we  quit  our  own,  to  stand  on  foreign  ground  .'  " 


l86  GHORCi:  IRlSBJi:  HO.-tR 

AloxaiuliT  ILimilton:  "No.  The  DrLlaration  of  Inde- 
pendence is  tlie  fundamental  constitutii)n  of  every  State." 

Thomas  Jefferson:  "No.  Cjovernments  are  instituted 
amoni:;  men  ilerivinj;  tlieir  just  powers  from  llie  consent  of 
the  j^overned.  l*"very  people  ouglit  to  have  that  sei)arate 
and  eipial  station  amonjj^  the  nations  of  the  work!  to  which 
the  hiws  of  nature  and  of  nature's  God  entitle  them." 

]iihn  .\dams:  "  No.  I  stood  by  the  side  of  Jefferson 
when  he  brought  in  the  Declaration ;  I  was  its  champion  on 
the  floor  of  Congress.  After  our  long  estrangement,  I  come 
back  to  his  side  again. " 

Thomas  Corwin:  "  No,  I  said  in  the  days  of  the  Mexi- 
can war:  '  If  1  were  a  Mexican,  as  I  am  an  American,  1 
would  welcome  you  with  bloody  hands  to  hospitable  graves  ' ; 
and  Ohio  to-day  honors  and  loves  me  for  that  utterance 
beyond  all  her  other  sons." 

Daniel  Webster:  "  No.  Under  our  constitution  there 
can  be  no  dependencies.  ...  A  nation  cannot  be  happy 
but  under  a  government  of  its  own  choice.  When  I  depart 
from  these  sentiments  I  depart  from  myself." 

Abraham  Lincoln:  "No.  I  said  in  Independence  Hall 
at  Philadelphia,  just  before  I  entered  upon  my  great  office, 
that  I  rested  upon  the  truth  Thomas  Jefferson  lias  just 
uttered,  and  that  I  was  ready  to  be  assassinated,  if  need  be, 
in  order  to  maintain  it.  And  I  was  assassinated  in  order  to 
maintain  it. " 

Mr.  President,  I  know  how  feeble  is  a  single  voice  amid 
this  din  and  tempest,  this  delirium  of  empire.  It  may  be 
that  the  battle  for  this  day  is  lost.  But  I  have  an  assured 
faith  in  the  future.  I  have  an  assured  faith  in  justice  and 
the  love  of  liberty  of  the  American  people.  The  stars  in 
their  courses  fight  for  freedom.  The  ruler  of  the  heavens  is 
on  that  side.  If  the  battle  to-day  go  against  it,  I  appeal  to 
another  day,  not  distant  and  sure  to  come.  I  appeal  from 
the  clapping  of  hands  and   the  stamping   of  feet   and  the 


OUR.   RICH   HERITAGE  1 87 

brawliiif^  and  the  shouting  to  the  quiet  chamber  wliere  the 
fathers  gathered  in  Philadelphia. 

I  appeal  from  the  spirit  of  trade  to  the  spirit  of  liberty. 
I  appeal  from  the  empire  to  the  Republic.  I  appeal  from 
the  millionaire,  and  the  boss,  and  the  wire-puller,  and  the 
manager  to  the  statesman  of  the  older  time,  in  whose  eyes  a 
guinea  never  glistened,  who  lived  and  died  poor,  and  who 
left  to  his  children  and  to  his  countrymen  a  good  name  far 
better  than  riches.  I  appeal  from  the  present,  bloated  with 
material  prosperity,  drunk  with  the  lust  of  empire,  to 
another  and  a  better  age.  I  appeal  from  the  present  to  the 
future  and  to  the  past. 


OUR   RICH    HERITAGE 

By  John  Mellen  Thurston,  Lawyer;  Senator  from  Nebraska,  1895 — . 
Born  at  Montpelicr,  Vt.,  1847. 

What  is  the  heritage  that  has  come  down  to  us  from  the 
turbulent  days  of  Lincoln's  administration  ?  On  the  his- 
torical field  of  Gettysburg  Lincoln  said,  "  A  government  of 
the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people." 

A  government  of  the  people  so  broad  that  it  offers  land, 
liberty,  and  labor  to  the  downtrodden  and  oppressed  of 
every  clime;  so  strong  that  the  sheathed  swords  of  its  citizen 
soldiers  need  never  again  be  drawn  to  protect  it  from  foes 
without  or  dissensions  within;  so  just,  that  the  blind  goddess 
of  its  temples  holds  in  equal  poise  the  scales  that  measure 
out  the  rights  and  privileges  and  powers  of  all;  so  liberal, 
that  in  its  sky  the  spires  of  every  faith  may  find  a  place,  and 
by  its  altars  individual  conscience  fears  not  Church  nor 
vState;  so  wise  in  crafts  of  statesmanship,  in  policies  of 
government  and  enacted  laws,  that  all  its  industries  and 
arts,  ennobled  by  invention,  stimulated  by  intelligence  and 
zeal,  flourish  and  prosper  beyond  compare;  so  well  beloved, 
that  the  bright  bayonet  of  its  honor  is  in  every  American 
hand,  and  the  certain  bulwark  of  its  safety  in  every  American 


l88  /(V/.V   A/AV././A'    THrh'srox 

heart.  Its  cities  grow  and  thrive;  its  fertile  fields  increase; 
its  inhind  couuncrcc  (luickens  all  tlic  lantl  through  arteries 
of  steel ;  its  white  sails  spread  to  catch  the  favoring  breeze 
of  every  sea;  its  whirling  spindles  and  its  tireless  wlieels 
make  merry  music  by  every  stream;  its  silver  forests  and  its 
golden  hills  are  inexhaustible  treasuries  uf  national  wealth; 
the  schoolhouse  is  the  })ride  of  every  village,  and  hapi)y 
motherlu)od  the  crown  of  every  home. 

This  government  is  iy  the  people.  In  it  the  unit  of 
political  power  is  individual  citizenship.  Under  its  consti- 
tution every  citizen  must  be  given  equal  voice  in  the  form- 
ulation of  laws,  and  in  the  selection  of  those  who  are  to 
administer  and  enforce  them;  every  avenue  of  preferment 
must  be  fairly  open  to  all. 

There  are  some  who  profess  to  believe  that  the  rights  and 
privileges  of  citizenship  should  be  denied  to  the  foreign- 
born.  But  in  the  hour  when  the  Republic  asked  for  brawny 
arms  to  bear  its  muskets,  and  willing  feet  to  march  beneath 
its  flag,  how  many  a  volunteer  made  answer  in  his  mother 
tongue,  first  learned  on  vineclad  liills  or  by  the  Zuyder  Zee  ? 
How  many  a  dying  patriot,  with  his  latest  breath,  blessed 
Erin's  wave-kissed  shore .''  Every  man  who  loved  our 
country  well  enough  to  fight  for  it;  every  man  who  is  willing 
to  abandon  for  it  his  childhood  home;  every  man  who  longs 
for  the  blessings  of  liberty,  and  is  ready  to  support  our  con- 
stitution and  obey  our  laws,  is  fitted  to  participate  in  a 
government  by  the  people. 

This  is  a  government  "Jor  the  people." 

So  framed  and  carried  on  that  the  stimulus  of  its  possible 
reward  rouses  humanity  to  its  best  endeavors.  Its  history 
is  replete  with  the  name  of  those  who,  from  the  lowest  con- 
dition, have  risen  to  the  highest  station.  On  its  great 
highway  the  barefoot  boy  may  distance  the  golden  chariot 
of  ancestral  wealth. 


HERVE  RIEL  1S9 


HERVE   RIEL 

By   Robert  Browning,    Poet.     Born   in  Camberwell,  England,    18 12; 
died  in  Venice,  Italy,  1889. 

On  the  sea  and  at  the  Hogue,  sixteen  hundred  ninety-two, 
Did  the  English  fight  the  P'rench ; — woe  to  France! 

And,  the  thirty-first  of  ]\Iay,  helter-skelter  through  the  blue, 

Like    a   crowd   of    frightened    porpoises   a    shoal   of    sharks 
pursue. 
Came  crowding  ship  on  ship  to  St.  IMalo  on  the  Ranee, 

With  the  English  fleet  in  view. 

'Twas  the   squadron  that   escaped,    with  the  victor  in  full 
chase, 
First  and  foremost  of  the  drove,  in  his  great  ship,  Damfre- 
ville; 
Close  on  him  fled,  great  and  small, 
Twenty-two  good  ships  in  all; 
And  they  signaled  to  the  place, 
"  Help  the  winners  of  a  race! 

Get   us  guidance,   give  us    harbor,   take    us  quick, — or, 

quicker  still, 
Here's  the  English  can  and  will!  " 

Then   the  pilots  of  the  place  put  out  brisk  and  leaped  on 
board. 
"  Why,    what    hope   or   chance  have  ships   like   these   to 
pass  .-*  "  laughed  they; 
"  Rocks  to  starboard,  rocks  to  port,  all  the  passage  scarred 
and  scored. 
Shall   the  Formidable  here,  w^th  her  twelve  and  eighty 
guns. 
Think  to  make  the  river-mouth  by  the  single  narrow  way. 
Trust  to  enter  where  'tis  ticklish  for  a  craft  of  twenty 
tons. 


J 9©  RORl:RT  RROIVNING 

And  with  How  at  full  bcsidr  ? 

Now  'tis  slackest  i-bb  of  tide. 
Reach  the  mooring  ?     Rather  say, 
While  rock  stands  or  water  runs, 
Not  a  ship  will  leave  the  bay!  " 

Tlien  was  called  a  ct)uncil  straiglit; 
Brief  and  bitter  the  debate: 

"  Here's  the  English  at  our  heels;   would  you  have  them 

take  in  tow 
All   that's  left   us  of  the  ileit,  linked  together  stern   and 
bow, 
For  a  prize  to  Plymouth  Sound  ? 
Better  run  the  ships  aground!  " 
(Ended  Damfreville  his  speech.) 
"  Not  a  minute  more  to  wait! 
Let  the  captains  all  and  each 

Shove  ashore,  then  blow  up,   burn  the  vessels  on  the 
beach ! 
France  must  undergo  her  fate." 

"  Give  the  word  I  "      ]kit  no  such  word 
Was  ever  spoke  or  heard  ; 

For  up  stood,  for  out  stepped,  for  in  struck  amid  all  these, 
A.  captain  ?     A  lieutenant  ?     A  mate, — first,  second,  third  ? 
No  such  man  of  mark,  and  meet 
With  his  betters  to  compete! 

But  a  simple  Breton  sailor  pressed  by  I'ourville  for  the 
fleet,— 
A  poor  coasting  pilot  he,  Herve  Riel  the  Croisickese. 
And  "  What  mockery  or  malice  have  we  here  ?  "  cries  Herve 
Riel; 
"  Are  you  mad,  you  Malouins  }     Are  you  cowards,  fools, 
or  rogues  ? 
Talk  to  me  of  rocks  ancj  shoals,  me  who  took  the  sound- 
ings, tell 


On  my  fingers  every  bank,  every  shallow,  every  swell 

"Fwixt  the  offing  here  and  Greve,  where  the  river  disem- 
bogues ? 
Are  you  bought  by  English  gold  ?     Is  it  love  the  lying's  for  ? 
Morn  and  eve,  night  and  day, 
Have  I  piloted  your  bay. 
Entered  free  and  anchored  fast  at  the  foot  of  Solidor. 

Burn  the  fleet,  and  ruin  France  ?     'I'hat  were  worse  than 
fifty  Hogues! 
Sirs,  they  know   I   speak  the  truth!      Sirs,  believe  me, 
there's  a  way! 
Only  let  me  lead  the  line, 

Have  the  biggest  ship  to  steer. 
Get  this  Formidable  clear, 
Make  the  others  follow  mine. 

And  I  lead  them  most  and  least  by  a  passage  I  know  well, 
Right  to  Solidor,  past  Greve, 

And  there  lay  them  safe  and  sound; 
And  if  one  ship  misbehave, — 

Keel  so  much  as  grate  the  ground, — 
Why,    I've   nothing  but   my  life;    here's  my  head!"   cries 
Herve  Riel. 

Not  a  minute  more  to  wait. 

"  Steer  us  in,  then,  small  and  great! 

Take  the  helm,  lead  the  line,  save  the  squadron!  "  cried 
its  chief. 
Captains,  give  the  sailor  place! 
He  is  Admiral,  in  brief. 

Still  the  north-wind,  by  God's  grace. 
See  the  noble  fellow's  face 
As  the  big  ship,  with  a  bound, 
Clears  the  entry  like  a  hound, 

Keeps  the  passage  as  its  inch  of  way  were  the  wide  sea's 
profound ! 
See,  safe  through  shoal  and  rock, 
How  they  follow  in  a  flock. 


192  ROHFRT  /W()//'.\7.V(; 

N\it    .1    sliij)    that    misbehaves,    imt    a    ked    tliat    grates    the 
ground, 
Not  a  spar  that  comes  to  grief! 
Tlie  peril,  see,  is  past, 
All  are  harboreil  io  the  last; 

And  just  as  llerve  Kiel  halloos  "  Anchor!  " — sure  as  fate, 
I'p  the  I'.nglish  come,  too  late. 

So  the  storm  subsides  to  calm; 

They  sec  the  green  trees  wave 

On  the  heights  o'crlooking  Greve: 
Hearts  that  bled  are  stanched  witli  balm. 
*'  Just  our  rapture  to  enhance, 

Let  the  English  rake  the  bay. 
Gnash  their  teeth  and  glare  askance 

As  they  cannonade  away! 
Neath  rampired  Solidor  pleasant  riding  on  the  Ranee!  " 
How  hope  succeeds  despair  on  each  captain's  countenance! 
Outbursts  all  with  one  acccord, 

"  This  is  Paradise  for  Hell! 
Let  France,  let  France's  king 
Thank  the  man  that  did  the  thing!  " 
What  a  shout,  and  all  one  word, 

"  Herve  Kiel!" 
As  he  stepped  in  front  once  more, 

Not  a  symptom  of  surprise 

In  the  frank  blue  Breton  eyes, 
Just  the  same  man  as  before. 

Then  said  Damfreville,  "  j\Iy  friend, 
I  must  speak  out  at  the  end, 

Though  I  find  the  speaking  hard: 
Praise  is  deeper  than  the  lips; 
You  have  saved  the  king  his  ships. 

You  must  name  your  own  reward. 
Faith,  our  sun  was  near  eclipse! 
Demand  whate'er  you  will, 


HERVE  RIEL  193 

France  remains  your  debtor  still. 

Ask    to    heart's    content,    and    have!     or    my    name's    not 
Damfreville. " 

Then  a  beam  of  fun  outbroke 
On  the  bearded  mouth  that  spoke, 
As  the  honest  heart  laughed  through 
Those  frank  eyes  of  Breton  blue: 
"  Since  I  needs  must  say  my  say. 

Since  on  board  the  duty's  done, 

And  from  Malo  Roads  to  Croisic  Point,  what  is  it  but  a 
run  ? — 
Since  'tis  ask  and  haye  I  may, — 

Since  the  others  go  ashore, — 
Come!     A  good  whole  holiday! 

Leave   to   go   and    see   my  wife,    whom    I  call    the  Belle 
Aurore!  " 

That  he  asked,  and  that  he  got, — nothing  more. 

Name  and  deed  alike  are  lost; 
Not  a  pillar  nor  a  post 

In  his  Croisic  keeps  alive  the  feat  as  it  befell* 
Not  a  head  in  white  and  black 
On  a  single  fishing  smack 
In  memory  of  the  man  but  for  whom  had  gone  to  wrack 

All  that  France  saved  from  the  fight  whence  England  bore 
the  bell. 
Go  to  Paris;   rank  on  rank 

Search  the  heroes  flung  pell-mell 
On  the  Louvre,  face  and  flank; 

You  shall  look  long  enough  ere  you  come  to  Herve  Riel. 
So,  for  better  and  for  worse, 
Herve  Riel,  accept  my  verse! 
In  my  verse,  Herve  Riel,  do  thou  once  more 
Save  the  squadron,    honor  France,  love  thy  wife  the  Belle 
Aurore. 


194  THOMAS   im.lCKF.IT  Rf-HD 


TO    TUl-    GRAND   ARMY    OF   THl-    Ri:iniRLIC 

By  Thomas  Hkackkti'  Rii:n,  Lawyer.  Statesman;  Member  of  Coiij^ress 
from  Maine.  1877-00-  Speaker  of  the  51st,  54tli.  and  55th  ("ongresscj. 
Horn  in  I'ortlaiul,  Me.,  1839;  resides  in  New  York  City. 

An  addrc&i)  delivered  .11  Grand  .Ximy  Reunion,  Old  Orch.ird,  M.iine,  AukusI  7,  18S4. 

Comrados  of  the  (iraiul  Army  of  tlie  Republic: — As  a 
tribute  to  your  worth  and  to  your  services,  this  vast  and 
splendid  audience,  the  largest  on  which  my  eye  over  rested, 
surpasses  any  speeches  we  can  possibly  make.  Free  from 
all  taint  of  ulterior  purpose,  spontaneous,  natural  as  the 
tidal  march  of  tlie  ocean  on  the  shore,  it  is  a  great  throb  of 
the  popular  heart  beating  in  recognition  of  you  and  of  your 
deeds.  And  why  should  not  this  throng  of  human  beings 
pour  from  every  hill  and  valley.''  They  come  to  do  honor 
to  those  noble  qualities  which  have  made  human  history  in 
the  past  and  human  progress  in  the  future  possible.  I'hey 
are  honoring  their  own  better  natures,  their  own  higher 
attributes.  War  is  a  terrible  misfortune,  but  some  of  the 
rarest  virtues  of  humanity  are  evolved  out  of  that  crucible, 
white  with  the  blinding  heat  of  passion.  All  men  rise  to 
honor  self-sacrifice,  that  noble  quality  wliich  lifts  us  beyond 
our  little  personality  and  makes  us  part  of  the  warp  and  woof 
of  that  race  which  has  made  the  whole  world  blossom  like 
the  rose.  All  men  rise  to  honor  courage;  not  that  brute 
fearlessness,  born  of  ignorance  and  of  the  flesh,  but  that 
nobler  courage,  born  of  the  soul,  which  faces  not  only  death, 
but  the  long  and  terrible  marches,  the  fever  of  wounds,  the 
depression  of  defeat,  and  all  the  frightful  experiences  of  that 
weary  road  which  led  to  the  glorious  citadel  of  liberty,  <ner 
which  floats  to-day  in  the  serene  upper  air  the  flag  of  a  land 
that  knows  no  slave  again  forever.  When  Frederick  the 
Great  led  his  miglity  army  to  the  concjuest  of  Silesia,  his 
battalions  marched  and  fought  and  conquered  by  the  vigor 
of  a  discipline  which  had  gone  on  for  a  quarter  of  a  century. 


TO    THE   GRAND   ARMY   OF   THE  REPUBLIC        195 

When  tlie  troops  of  the  German  Empire  set  out  for  the  cam- 
paign of  Sadowa,  a  lifetime  devoted  to  the  exercises  of  war 
had  made  of  them  a  machine  fit  to  execute  the  will  of 
despotic  power.  Not  thus  your  march.  Out  of  the  midst 
of  your  fellow  citizens  you  stepped.  The  sight  of  human 
blood  had  never  filled  your  eyes.  You  went,  not  as 
machines,  but  as  men,  to  execute  your  own  will  and  the  will 
of  the  people.  And  when  your  work  was  done,  silently, 
like  the  subsidence  of  one  of  the  great  forces  of  nature,  you 
took  your  places  among  your  fellow  men  to  help  produce 
for  them  and  yourselves  the  comforts  and  necessities  of  life. 
Upon  no  grander  spectacle  has  human  history  ever  looked! 
What  you  have  done  and  suffered  has  not  gone  without  its 
recompense.  It  is  ordained  in  the  providence  of  God  that 
good  deeds  contain  the  germ  of  their  own  reward.  Another 
day  than  this  has  been  consecrated  to  the  memory  of  the 
dead;  this  day  is  consecrated  to  the  tender  companionship 
and  fraternity  of  the  living.  What  is  the  best  good  of  life  .'' 
It  is  not  high  station,  or  high  honors.  IMy  friend  who  sits 
there  [INIr.  Blaine],  who  has  had  them  all,  will  tell  you  that 
good-fellowship  of  friends  and  hearty  comradeship  is  better 
than  all  place  and  fame.  To  be  interlaced  one  with  another 
in  thoughts  and  hopes  and  sympathies  is  to  become  part 
and  parcel  of  that  eternal  humanity  which  is  so  much  greater 
and  nobler  than  any  of  us  poor  atoms.  Comrades,  you  have 
been  welded  together  by  the  white  heat  of  battle!  To  have 
lived  together,  to  have  suffered  together,  to  have  had  great 
thoughts  and  to  have  done  great  deeds  together,  what  solider 
foundation  of  friendship  can  there  be  on  earth  .''  It  must 
outlast  all  time,  and  if  it  be  true  that  on  the  other  shore  we 
take  our  characters  and  friendships  where  we  leave  them 
here,  the  great  possibilities  of  reward  in  the  future  will 
transcend  our  highest  hopes  and  our  loftiest  words. 


196  AliR^H.IM   I.ISCOLN 


DEDICATION    OF   GETTYSBURG    CEMETERY 

By  Ahraiiam  l.lNtoi.N,  Lawyer.  Slatcsinan;  Presiilent  of  tlie  United 
States.  1801-O5.  lk)m  in  Hardin  County,  Kentucky,  1809;  died  in 
Washington,  D.  C,  1865. 

Delivered  November  i<),  1863,  at  the  dedic.ition  of  the  cemetery  in  which  were  buried 
those  slain  in  the  battle  of  Gettysburg. 

Fourscore  and  seven  years  ago,  our  fathers  brought  forth 
upon  this  continent  a  new  nation,  conceived  in  liberty  and 
dedicated  to  the  proposition  that  all  men  are  created  equal. 
Now  we  are  engaged  in  a  great  civil  war,  testing  whether 
that  nation — or  any  nation  so  conceived  and  so  dedicated — 
can  long  endure. 

We  are  met  on  a  great  battlefield  of  that  war.  We  are 
met  to  dedicate  a  portion  of  it  as  the  final  resting-place  of 
those  who  have  given  their  lives  that  that  nation  might  live. 
It  is  altogether  fitting  and  proper  that  we  should  do  this. 

But,  in  a  larger  sense,  we  cannot  dedicate,  we  cannot 
consecrate,  we  cannot  hallow,  this  ground.  The  brave 
men,  living  and  dead,  who  struggled  here,  have  consecrated 
it,  far  above  our  power  to  add  or  to  detract.  The  world  will 
ver}'  little  note  nor  long  remember  what  we  say  here;  Ijut  it 
can  never  forget  what  they  did  here. 

It  is  for  Us,  the  living,  rather,  to  be  dedicated  here  to  the 
unfinished  work  they  have  thus  far  so  nobly  carried  on.  It 
is  rather  for  us  to  be  here  dedicated  to  the  great  task 
remaining  before  us;  that  from  these  honored  dead  we  take 
increased  devotion  to  that  cause  for  which  they  here  gave  the 
last  full  measure  of  devotion  ;  that  we  here  highly  resolve  that 
these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in  vain;  that  the  nation  shall, 
under  God,  have  a  new^  birth  of  freedom,  and  that  govern- 
ment of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people,  shall  not 
perish  from  the  earth. 


TRUE  AMERICANISM  197 


TRUE   AMERICANISM 

By  Henry  Cabot  Lodge,  Lawyer,  Editor,  Author;  Member  of  Congress 
from  Massachusetts,  1886-93;  Senator,  1893 — .  Born  in  Boston, 
Mass.,  1350. 

Taken,  by  permission  of  the  author,  from  a  speech  delivered  at  a  dinner  of  the  New 
England  Society  in  the  City  of  New  York,  Dec.  22,  1884.  See  "  Speeches  of  Henry 
Cabot  Lodge,"  copyright  1S92,  by  H.  C.  Lodge,  published  by  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co., 
Boston. 

Mr.  President,  I  am  coming  very  close  to  what  is  called 
Americanism,  but  of  Americanism  of  the  right  sort  we  cannot 
in  this  day  and  generation  have  too  much.  Mere  vaporing 
and  boasting  become  a  nation  as  little  as  a  man.  But 
honest,  outspoken  pride  and  faith  in  our  country  are 
infinitely  better  and  more  to  be  respected  than  the  cultivated 
reserve  which  sets  it  down  as  ill-bred  and  in  bad  taste  ever 
to  refer  to  our  country  except  by  way  of  depreciation,  criti- 
cism, or  general  negation.  The  Puritans  did  great  work  in 
the  world  because  they  believed  most  fervently  in  their 
cause,  their  country,  and  themselves.  It  is  the  same  to-day. 
Without  belief  of  this  sort  nothing  worth  doing  is  ever  done. 

We  have  a  right  to  be  proud  of  our  vast  material  success, 
our  national  power  and  dignity,  our  advancing  civilization 
carrying  freedom  and  education  in  its  train.  Most  of  all 
may  we  be  proud  of  the  magnanimity  displayed  by  the 
American  people  at  the  close  of  the  Civil  War — a  noble 
generosity  unparalleled  in  the  history  of  nations.  But  to 
count  our  wealth  and  tell  our  numbers,  and  rehearse  our 
great  deeds  simply  to  boast  of  them,  is  useless  enough.  We 
have  a  right  to  do  it  only  when  we  listen  to  the  solemn 
undertone  which  brings  the  message  of  great  responsibilities 
— responsibilities  far  greater  than  the  ordinary  political  and 
financial  issues,  which  are  sure  to  find  sooner  or  later  a  right 
settlement.  Social  questions  are  the  great  questions  of  the 
present  and  the  future  for  the  American  people.  The  race 
for  wealth  has  opened  a  broad  gap  between  rich  and  poor. 


X98  m:N/<y  c.-mor  lodge 

TluTc  arc  tliDUsaiuis  at  \. tur  };atcs  tailing  from  sunrise  to 
sunset  to  keep  bt)t.ly  ami  Si)ul  together,  and  the  struggle  is  a 
hard  and  bitter  one.  The  idle,  the  worthless,  the  criminal, 
form  but  a  small  clement  of  the  community.  There  is  a 
vast  body  of  honest,  God-fearing  workingmen  and  wt)men 
whose  yoke  is  not  easy  and  whose  burden  is  far  from  right. 

The  destiny  of  the  Republic  is  in  the  welfare  of  its  wi^rk- 
ingmen  and  women.  We  cannot  })ush  their  troubles  and 
cares  into  the  background,  and  trust  that  all  will  come  right 
in  the  end.  Let  us  look  to  it  that  differences  and  inequali- 
ties of  condition  do  not  widen  into  ruin.  It  is  most  true 
that  these  differences  cannot  be  eradicated;  but  they  can  be 
modified,  and  a  great  deal  can  be  done  to  secure  to  every 
man  the  share  of  well-being  and  happiness  to  which  his 
honesty,  thrift,  and  ability  entitle  him.  Legislation  cannot 
change  humanity  or  alter  the  decrees  of  nature,  but  it  can 
help  the  solution  of  these  grave  problems. 

Practical  measures  are  plentiful  enough;  the  hours  of 
labor;  emigration  from  our  overcrowded  cities  to  the  lands 
of  the  West;  economical  and  energetic  municipal  govern- 
ments; proper  building  laws;  the  rigid  prevention  of  adul- 
teration in  the  great  staples  of  food;  wise  regulation  of  the 
railroads  and  other  great  corporations;  the  extirpation  of 
race  and  class  in  politics;  above  all,  every  effort  to  secure 
to  labor  its  fair  and  full  share  of  the  profits  earned  by  the 
combination  of  labor  and  capital.  Here  are  matters  of  great 
pith  and  moment,  more  important,  more  essential,  more 
pressing,  than  any  others.  They  must  be  met;  they  cannot 
be  shirked  or  evaded. 

The  past  is  across  the  water.  The  future  is  here  in  our 
keeping.  We  can  do  all  that  can  be  done  to  solve  the  social 
problems  and  fulfill  the  hopes  of  mankind.  Failure  would 
be  a  disaster  unequaled  in  history.  The  first  step  to  success 
is  pride  of  country,  sim])le,  honest,  frank,  and  ever  present, 
and  this  is  the  Americanism  that  I  would  have.  If  we  have 
this  pride  and  faith  we  shall  appreciate  our  mighty  responsi- 


THE  PILOT'S  STORY  199 

bilities.  Then  if  we  live  up  to  them  we  shall  keep  the 
words  "an  American  citizen"  what  they  now  are — the 
noblest  title  any  man  can  bear. 


THE    PILOT'S    STORY 

By  William   Dean  Howells,   Editor,   Author,  Poet.     Born  at  Martin 
Ferry,  Ohio,  1837. 

Through  the  courtesy  of  Mr.  Howells  and  by  permission  of  the  publishers  of  his 
poems,  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston. 

It  was  a  Story  the  pilot  told,  with  his  back  to  his  hearers, — 
Keeping  his  hand  on  the  wheel  and  his  eye  on  the  globe  of 

the  jack-staff, 
Holding  the  boat  to  the  shore  and  out  of  the  sweep  of  the 

current, 
Lightly  turning  aside  for  the  heavy  logs  of  the  driftwood. 
Widely  shunning  the  snags  that  made  us  sardonic  obeisance. 

All  the  .soft,  damp  air  was  full  of  delicate  perfume 

From  the  young  willows  in   bloom   on  either  bank  of  the 

river, — 
Faint,  delicious  fragrance,  trancing  the  indolent  senses 
In  a  luxurious  dream  of  the  river  and  land  of  the  lotus. 

Not  yet  out  of  the  west  the  roses  of  sunset  were  withered  ; 
In  the  deep  blue  above  light  clouds  of  gold  and  of  crimson 
Floated  in  slumber   serene,   and  the    restless  river  beneath 

them 
Rushed  away  to  the  sea  with  a  vision  of  rest  in  its  bosom. 
Far  on  the  eastern  shore  lay  dimly  the  swamps  of  the  cypress; 
Dimly  before  us  the  islands  grew  from  the  river's  expanses, — 
Beautiful,    wood-grown  isles,    with    the   gleam  of  the  swart 

inundation. 
Seen  through  the  swaying  boughs  and  slender  trunks  of  their 

willows; 


aoo  n  iiii.iM  /)/:.-/A'  noiiF.i.i.s 

Aiul    t»n    the    shore    beside    us   the   ct)ttt)n-trees  rose   m    tlie 

ovenini:;, 
I'hantom-like,  vcaminj^ly,  wearily,  with  the   inscrutable  sad- 
ness 
Of  the  mute  races  ol  trees.      While  hoarsely  tiie  steam  from 

her  'scape-pipes 
Shouteil,  then  whispereii   a   moment,  then  shouted   a,i;ain   to 

the  silence, 
Trembling  through  all   her  frame  with   the   mighty  pulse  of 

lier  engines, 
Slowly  the  boat  ascended  the  swollen  and  broad  Mississippi 
Bank-full,  sweeping  on,  with  nearing  masses  of  driftwood. 
Daintily  breathed  about  with  hazes  of  silvery  vapor, 
Where  in  his  arrowy  flight  the  twittering  swallow  alighted. 
And  the  belated  blackbird  paused  on  the  way  to  its  nestlings. 

It  was  the  pilot's  story: — "  They  both  came  aboard  there, 

at  Cairo, 
From  a  New  Orleans  boat,    and  took  passage  with   us  for 

Saint  Louis. 
She  was  a  beautiful  woman,  with  just   blood  enough   from 

her  mother. 
Darkening  her  eyes  and   her  liair,  to  make  her  race  known 

to  a  trader: 
You  would  have  thouglit  she  was  white.      The  man  that  was 

with  her, — you  see  such, — 
Weakly  good-natured  and  kind,    and   weakly  good-natured 

and  vicious. 
Slender  of  body  and  soul,  fit  neither  for  loving  nor  hating. 
I  was  a  youngster  then,  and  only  learning  the  river, — 
Not  over-fond  of  the  wheel.     I  used  to  watch  them  at  monte, 
Down  in  the  cabin  at  night,  and   learned  to  know  all  of  the 

gamblers. 
So  when  I  saw  this  weak  one  staking  his  money  against  them, 
letting  upon  the  turn  of  the  cards,  I  knew  what  was  coming: 
They  never  left  their  pigeons  a  single  feather  to  fly  with. 


THE   PILOT'S  STORY  2oi 

Next  day  I  saw  them  together, — the  stranger  and  one  of  the 

gamblers: 
Picturesque    rascal     he    was,    with     long    black     hair    and 

moustaches, 
Black  slouch  hat  drawn  down  to  his  eyes  from  his  villainous 

forehead : 
On  together  they  moved,  still  earnestly  talking  in  whispers. 
On  toward  the  forecastle,  where  sat  the  woman  alone  by  the 

gangway. 
Roused  by  the  fall   of  feet,  she  turned,  and,  beholding  her 

master, 
Greeted  him  with  a  smile  that  was  more  like  a  wife's  than 

another's. 
Rose  to  meet  him   fondly,  and  then,  with  the  dread  appre- 
hension 
Always  haunting  the  slave,  fell  her  eye  on  the  face  of  the 

gambler. 
Dark  and  lustful  and  fierce  and  full  of  merciless  cunning. 

Something  was  spoken  so  low  that  I  could  not  hear  what  the 

words  were ; 
Only  the  woman  started,  and  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 
With  imploring  eyes,  bewildered  hands,  and  a  tremor 
All  through  her  frame:  I  saw  her  from  where  I  was  standing, 

she  shook  so. 
'  Say!   is  it  so  ^  '  she  cried.      On  the  weak,  white  lips  of  her 

master 
Died  a  sickly  smile,  and  he  said, — '  Louise,  I  have  sold  you.' 
God  is  my  judge!      May  I  never  see  such  a  look  of  despair- 
ing. 
Desolate  anguish,    as   that   which   the  woman  cast    on    her 

master. 
Griping  her  breast  with  her  little  hands,  as  if  he  had  stabbed 

her, 
Standing  in  silence  a  space,  as  fixed  as  the  Indian  woman, 
Carved  out  of  wood,   on  the  pilot-house  of  the  old  Poca- 
hontas ! 


202  li  iiii.iM  ni:.ix  Hou  iiLi.s 

riR'n.   uilli  ;i  L;uri;lin^  iiu>;ui,  like  the  sound  in  the  throat  of 

tlie  living. 
Came  back   lier  voice,  that,    rising,    lluttereil,    tlirough   wild 

incoherence, 
Into    a    terrible    shriek    that    stoppeil    my    heart   while    she 

answered : — 
'  Sold  me  ?  sold  me  ?  sold And  you  proniiseil  to  give 

me  my  freedom  ! — 
Promised  me,  for  the  sake  of  our  little  boy  in  Saint  Louis! 
What  will  you  say  to  our  boy.  when  he  cries  for  nie  there  in 

Saint  Louis  ? 
What  will  you  say  to  our  (iod  ? — Ah,  you  have  been  joking! 

I  see  it! 
No!   God!   God!   He  shall  hear  it, — and  all  of  the  angels  in 

heaven, — 
Even  the  devils  in  hell! — and  none  will  believe  when  they 

hear  it! 
Sold   me!  ' — Fell    her    voice   with    a   thrilling   wail,    and    in 

silence 
Down  she  sank  on   the  deck,  and   covered  lier  face  with  her 

fingers. ' ' 

In  his  story  a  moment  the  pilot  paused,  while  we  listened 
To  the  salute  of  a  boat,  that,  rounding  the  point  of  an  island, 
Flamed  toward  us  with  fires  that  seemed  to  burn  from  the 

waters, — 
Stately  and  vast  and   swift,  and  borne  on  the  heart  of  the 

current. 
Then,  with  the  mighty  voice  of  a  giant  challenged  to  battle. 
Rose  the  responsive  whistle,  and  all  the  echoes  of  island. 
Swamp-land,  glade,  and  brake  replied  with  a  myriad  clamor. 
Like  wild  birds  that  are  suddenly  startled  from  slumber  at 

midnight; 
Then  were  at  peace  once  more,  and  we  heard  the  harsh  cries 

of  the  peacocks 
Perched  on  a  tree  by  a  cabin  door,  where  the  white-headed 

settler's 


THF.    PILOT'S  STORY  203 

White-headed  children  stood  to  look  at  the  boat  as  it  passed 

them, 
Passed  them  so  near  that  we  heard  their  happy  talk  and  their 

laughter. 
Softly  the  sunset  had  faded,  and  now  on  the  eastern  horizon 
Hung  like  a  tear  in  the  sky,  the  beautiful  star  of  the  evening. 

Still  with  his  back  to  us  standing,  the  pilot  went  on  with  his 

story : — 
"  Instantly,  all  the  people,  with  looks  of  reproach  and  com- 
passion, 
Flocked  round  the  prostrate  woman.      The  children  cried, 

and  their  mothers 
Hugged  them  tight  to  their  breasts;  but  the  gambler  said  to 

the  captain, — 
'  Put  me  off  there  at  the  town  that  lies  round  the  bend  of 

the  river. 
Here,  you !  rise  at  once,  and  be  ready  now  to  go  with  me. ' 
Roughly  he  seized  the  woman's  arm  and  strove  to  uplift  her. 
She— she  seemed  not  to  heed  him,  but  rose  like  one  that  is 

dreaming, 
Slid  from   his  grasp,  and   fleetly  mounted   the  steps  of  the 

gangway. 
Up  to  the  hurricane-deck,  in  silence,  without  lamentation. 
Straight  to  the  stern  of  the  boat,  where  the  wheel  was,  she 

ran,  and  the  people 
Followed   her  fast  till   she  turned   and   stood   at   bay  for  a 

moment, 
Looking  them  in  the  face,  and  in  the  face  of  the  gambler. 
Not   one   to   save  her, — not  one   of    all   the  compassionate 

people ! 
Not  one  to  save  her,  of  all  the  pitying  angels  in  heaven! 
Not  one  bolt  of  God  to  strike  him  dead  there  before  her! 
Wildly   she   waved    him   back,    we    waiting   in    silence    and 

horror. 
Over  the  swarthy  face  of  the  gambler  a  pallor  of  passion 


204  n  ii.u.iM  nr..i\'  uoin.iis 

Piisscil,  like  u  j;lc;\m  of  lij^htnini;  over  tlic  west  in  the  night- 
time. 

White,  sl»c  stooil.  and  mute,  till  he  i)ut  forth  his  liand  to 
secure  lur ; 

Tlien  she  turneil  antl  leaped,  —  in  mid-air  fluttered  a 
moment, — 

Down,  there,  whirling,  fell,  like  a  broken-winged  bird  from 
a  tree-top, 

Down  on  the  cruel  wlieel,  that  caught  lier,  antl  hurled  her, 
and  crushed  her. 

And  in  the  foaming  water  plunged  her,  and  hid  her  forever." 

Still  with  liis  back  to  us  all  the  pilot  stood,  but  wc  heard 

him 
Swallowing  hard,    as  he   pulled    the  bell-rope  to  stop   her. 

Then,  turning, — 
"  'I'his  is  the  place  where  it  happened,"  brokenly  whispered 

the  pilot. 
"  Somehow,  I  never  like  to  go  by  here  alone  in  the  night- 
time. " 
Darkly  the   Mississippi   flowed   by  the  town  that   lay  in   the 

starlight, 
Cheerful  with  lamps.      Below  we  could  hear  them  reversing 

the  engines. 
And   the   great   boat   glided    up   to   the  shore   like   a   giant 

exhausted. 
Heavily  sighed  her  pipes.      Broad  over  the  swamps  to  the 

eastward 
Shone  the  full  moon,  and  turned  our  far-trembling  wake  into 

silver. 
All    was   serene   and   calm,    but  the  odorous  breath   of   the 

willow^  s 
Smote  like  the  subtle  breath  of  an  infinite  sorrow  upon  us. 


AN  APPFAL    TO    THE  PEOPLE  205 


AN   APPEAL   TO    THE    PEOPLE 

By  John   Bright,   Statesman.      Born  at   Greenbank,   England,    181 1; 
died  in  London,  1889. 

Selections  from  two  speeches  on  Reform  :  the  first  delivered  at  Birmingham,  Eng- 
land, August  27,  1S66;  the  second  at  London,  England,  December  4,  1866.  See 
"  Speeches  by  John  Bright,"  published  by  Macmillan  &  Company,  London  and 
New  York.     By  permission  of  the  publishers. 

Our  opponents  have  charged  us  with  being  the  promoters 
of  a  dangerous  excitement.  They  have  the  effrontery  to  say 
that  I  am  the  friend  of  public  disorder.  I  am  one  of  the 
people.  Surely,  if  there  be  one  thing  in  a  free  country  more 
clear  than  another,  it  is,  that  any  one  of  the  people  may 
speak  openly  to  the  people.  If  I  speak  to  the  people  of 
their  rights,  and  indicate  to  them  the  way  to  secure  them, — 
if  I  speak  of  their  danger  to  the  monopolists  of  power, — am 
I  not  a  wise  counsellor,  both  to  the  people  and  to  their 
rulers  } 

Suppose  I  stood  at  the  foot  of  Vesuvius,  or  ^tna,  and, 
seeing  a  hamlet  or  a  homestead  planted  on  its  slope,  I  said 
to  the  dwellers  in  that  hamlet,  or  in  that  homestead,  "  You 
see  that  vapor  which  ascends  from  the  summit  of  the  moun- 
tain. That  vapor  may  become  a  dense,  black  smoke,  that 
will  obscure  the  sky.  You  see  the  trickling  of  lava  from  the 
crevices  in  the  side  of  the  mountain.  That  trickling  of  lava 
may  become  a  river  of  fire.  You  hear  that  muttering  in  the 
bowels  of  the  mountain.  That  muttering  may  become  a 
bellowing  thunder,  the  voice  of  a  violent  convulsion,  that 
may  shake  half  a  continent.  You  know  that  at  your  feet  is 
the  grave  of  great  cities,  for  which  there  is  no  resurrection, 
as  histories  tell  us  that  dynasties  and  aristocracies  have 
passed  away,  and  their  names  have  been  known  no  more 
forever. 

If  I  say  this  to  the  dwellers  upon  the  slope  of  the  moun- 
tain, and  if  there  comes  hereafter  a  catastrophe  which  makes 
the  world  to  shudder,  am  I  responsible  for  that  catastrophe  ? 


2o6  HOK.ICi:   /'OA'/VA' 

1  dill  Hot  biiilil  tlif  HiuiiDtuin,  or  fill  it  witli  explosive 
materials.  I  merely  warneil  the  men  tliat  were  in  danji^er. 
So,  now,  it  is  not  I  who  am  stimulating  men  to  the  violent 
pursuit  ol  their  acknowledged  constitutional  rights. 

The  class  which  has  hitherto  ruled  in  this  country  has 
failed  miserably.  It  revels  in  jiower  and  wealth,  wliiL^t  at 
its  feet,  a  terrible  peril  for  its  future,  lies  the  multitude  which 
it  has  neglected.      If  a  class  has  failed,  let  us  try  the  nation. 

That  is  our  faith,  that  is  our  puri)Osc,  that  is  our  cry. 
Let  us  try  the  nation.  This  it  is  which  has  called  together 
these  countless  numbers  of  the  people  to  demand  a  change; 
and  from  these  gatherings,  sublime  in  their  vastness  and  their 
resolution,  I  think  I  see,  as  it  were,  above  the  hill-tops  of 
time,  the  glimmerings  of  the  dawn  of  a  better  and  a  nobler 
day  for  the  country  and  for  the  people  that  1  love  so  well. 

A   TRIBUTE   TO    GENERAL   SHERMAN 

Hy    Horace    Porter,    Brigadier-Gi-neral,    Lecturer,    Author;    United 
States  Ambassador  to  France,  1897 — .     Born  in  Huntington,  Penn., 

1837- 

From  a  speech  at  a  banquet  of  tlie  New  F^iiRland  Society  in  the  City  of  New  York, 
Dec.  22,  i8gi.     See  New  York  Tritune,  Dec.  23,  1891. 

In  speaking  of  the  sons  of  New  England  sires,  I  know- 
that  one  name  is  uppermost  in  all  minds  here  to-night — the 
name  of  one  who  added  new  luster  to  the  fame  of  his  distin- 
guished ancestors.  The  members  of  your  society,  like  the 
nation  at  large,  found  themselves  within  the  shadow  of  a 
profound  grief,  and  oppressed  by  a  sense  of  sadness  akin  to 
the  sorrow  of  a  personal  bereavement,  as  they  stood  with 
uncovered  heads  beside  the  bier  of  William  T.  Sherman; 
when  the  echo  of  his  guns  gave  place  to  the  tolling  of 
cathedral-bells;  when  the  flag  of  his  country,  which  had 
never  been  lowered  in  his  presence,  dropped  to  half-mast,  as 
if  conscious  that  his  .strong  arm  was  no  longer  there  to  hold 
it  to  the  peak;  when  he  j^assed  from  the  living  here  to  join 
the  other  livings,  commonly  called  the  dead.     >Ve  shall  never 


A    TRIBUTE    TO   GENERAL   SHERMAN  207 

meet  the  great  soldier  again  until  he  stands  forth  to  answer 
to  his  name  at  roll-call  on  the  morning  of  the  last  great 
reveille.  At  the  reunions  of  this  Society  he  was  always  a 
thrice-welcome  guest.  The  same  blood  coursed  in  his  veins 
as  that  which  flows  in  yours.  All  hearts  warmed  to  him 
with  the  glow  of  an  abiding  affection.  He  was  a  many- 
sided  man.  He  possessed  all  the  characteristics  of  the 
successful  soldier;  bold  in  conception,  vigorous  in  execu- 
tion, and  unshrinking  under  grave  responsibilities.  He 
was  singularly  self-reliant,  demonstrating  by  all  his  acts 
that  "much  danger  makes. great  hearts  most  resolute." 
He  combined  in  his  temperament  the  restlessness  of  a 
Hotspur  with  the  patience  of  a  Fabius.  Under  the  mag- 
netism of  his  presence  his  troops  rushed  to  victory  with  all 
the  dash  of  Coesar's  Tenth  Legion.  Opposing  ranks  went 
down  before  the  iierceness  of  his  onsets,  never  to  rise  again. 
He  paused  not  till  he  saw  the  folds  of  his  banners  wave 
above  the  strongholds  he  had  wrested  from  the  foe. 

While  mankind  will  always  appreciate  the  practical  work- 
ings of  the  mind  of  the  great  strategist,  they  will  also  see  in 
his  marvelous  career  much  which  savors  of  romance  as  well 
as  reality,  appeals  to  the  imagination  and  excites  the  fancy. 
They  will  ])icture  him  as  a  legendary  knight  moving  at  the 
head  of  conquering  columns,  whose  marches  were  measured 
not  by  single  miles,  but  by  thousands;  as  a  general  who 
could  make  a  Christmas  gift  to  his  President  of  a  great  sea- 
board city;  as  a  chieftain  whose  field  of  military  operations 
covered  nearly  half  a  continent;  who  had  penetrated  ever- 
glades and  bayous;  the  inspiration  of  whose  commands 
forged  weaklings  into  giants;  whose  orders  all  spoke  with 
the  true  bluntness  of  the  soldier;  who  fought  from  valley's 
depth  to  mountain  height,  and  marched  from  inland  rivers 
to  the  sea.  No  one  can  rob  him  of  his  laurels;  no  man  can 
lessen  the  measure  of  his  fame.  His  friends  will  never  cease 
to  sing  paeans  in  his  honor,  and  even  the  wrath  of  his 
enemies  may  be  counted  in  his  {)raise. 


2o8  F.u/..-iiiF.rn  n.iRRnr  urou-ning 


MOTHER   AND    POET 

\\y  El.iZAHKiii  H\RKi;rr  Hkownim;,  Poet.     IJuni  in  IUiiIkhii,  England, 

1S09;  died  in  Florence,  Italy,  1861. 

(Turin-  After  news  from  (;;vta,  1861.) 

Dead!   One  of  tlicin  shot  by  the  sea  in  the  east, 
And  one  of  them  shot  in  the  west  by  the  sea, 

Dead  I   both  my  boys!      When  you  sit  at  the  feast, 
And  are  wanting  a  great  song  for  Italy  free, 
Let  none  kiok  at  mcj 

Yet  I  was  a  poetess  only  last  year, 

And  good  at  my  art,  for  a  woman,  men  said; 

But  this  woman,  this,  who  is  agonized  here. 
The  east  sea  and  west  sea  rhyme  on  in  her  head 
Forever,  instead. 

What  art  can  a  woman  be  good  at  ?     Oh,  vain! 

What  art  is  she  good  at,  but  hurting  her  breast 
With  the  milk-teeth  of  babes,  and  a  smile  at  the  pain  ? 

Ah,  boys,  how  you  hurt!   you  were  strong  as  you  pressed. 
And  I  proud,  by  that  test. 

What  art's  for  a  woman  .''     To  hold  on  her  knees 

Both  darlings;  to  feel  all  their  arms  round  her  throat 

Cling,  strangle  a  little;  to  sew  by  degrees 

And  broider  the  long  clothes  and  neat  little  coat; 
To  dream  and  to  doat ! 

To  teach  them  ...  It  stings  there!     I  made  them,  indeed. 
Speak  plain  the  word  country.      I  taught  them,  no  doubt, 

That  a  country's  a  thing  men  should  die  for  at  need. 
I  prated  of  liberty,  rights,  and  about 
The  tyrant  cast  out. 


MOTHER  AND  POET  209 

And  when  their  eyes  flashed  .    .    .   O  my  beautiful  eyes, 

I  exulted;  nay,  let  them  go  forth  at  the  wheels 
Of  the  guns,  and  denied  not.      But  then  the  surprise 

When   one  sits   quite  alone!     Then  one  weeps,  then  one 
kneels! 

— God,  how  the  house  feels! 

At  first  happy  news  came, — in  gay  letters,  moiled 
With  my  kisses, — of  camp-life  and  glory,  and  how 

They  both  loved  me;  and,  soon  coming  home  to  be  spoiled. 
In  return  would  fan  off  every  fly  from  my  brow 
With  their  green  laurel-bough. 

Then  was  triumph  at  Turin.      Ancona  was  free! 

And  some  one  came  out  of  the  cheers  in  the  street, 
With  a  face  pale  as  stone,  to  say  something  to  me: 

My  Guido  was  dead !     I  fell  down  at  his  feet, 
While  they  cheered  in  the  street. 

I  bore  it;   friends  soothed  me;   my  grief  looked  sublime 

As  the  ransom  of  Italy.      One  boy  remained 
To  be  leaned  on  and  walked  with,  recalling  the  time 
When  the  first  grew  immortal,  while  both  of  us  strained 
To  the  height  he  had  gained. 

And  letters  still  came,  shorter,  sadder,  more  strong, 
W>it  now  but  in  one  hand:   I  was  not  to  faint, — 

One  loved  me  for  two, — would  be  with  me  ere  long: 
And,  "  Viva  V Ilalia  !  he  died  for, — our  saint, — 
Who  forbids  our  complaint." 

]\Iy  Nannie  would  add;  he  was  safe,  and  aware 

Of  a  presence  that  turned  off  the  balls, — was  impressed 

It  was  Guido  himself,  who  knew  what  I  could  bear, 
And  how  'twas  impossible,  quite  dispossessed, 
To  live  on  for  the  rest. 


2IO  rii/.-im-rn  n.fRKinr  nKOUKiNC 

Chi  whitli,   without  pause,   up  tlir  ti.kj;i:i|)li-liiu' 

Swept  smoothly  the  next  news  from  (iaeta: — "  S/w/. 
Tell  his  mother."      Ah,    ah,    "his,"    "their"   niotlier,    not 
"  mine;  " 
Xo  voice  savs,  "  Mv  motlicr  "  again  to  me.      What! 
Vou  think  (iuiih">  forpt)t  ? 

Arc  souls  straif^ht  so  liappy  that,  ili/./y  with  Heaven, 
They  drop  earth's  affections,  conceive  not  of  woe  ? 

I  think  not.      Themselves  were  too  lately  forgiven 
Through  that  Love  and  Sorrow  which  reconciled  so 
The  Above  and  lielow. 

Oh  Christ  of  the  seven  wounds  ,  who  look'dst  tlirough  the  dark 
To  the  face  of  Thy  Mother!   consider,  I  jiray, 

How  we  common  mothers  stand  desolate,  mark 

Whose  sons,  not  being  Christs,  die  with  eyes  turned  away, 
And  no  last  word  to  say. 

Both  boys  dead  .'  but  that's  out  of  nature.      We  all 

Have  been  patriots,  yet  each  house  must  always  keep  one. 

'Twere  imbecile,  hewing  out  roads  to  a  wall; 

And,  when  Italy's  made,  for  what  end  is  it  done 
If  we  have  not  a  son  ^. 

Ah,  ah,  ah!  when  Gaeta's  taken,  what  then  .-' 

When  the  fair  wicked  queen  sits  no  more  at  her  sport 

Of  the  fire-balls  of  death,  crashing  souls  out  of  men  .' 
When  the  guns  of  Cavalli,  with  final  retort, 
Have  cut  the  game  short  .^ 

When  Venice  and  Rome  kce])  their  new  jubilee, 

When  your  flag  takes  all  heaven  for  its  white,  green,  and 
red, 
When^OM  have  a  country  from  mountain  to  sea, 
And  King  Victor  lias  Italy's  crown  on  his  head, 
(And  I  have  my  dead) — ^ 


FORLII-ATHERS'    DAY  2 

What  then  ?     Do  not  mock  me.      Ah,  ring  your  bells  low. 

And  burn  your  lights  faintly!     My  country  is  there, 
Above  the  star  pricked  by  the  last  peak  of  snow; 

My  Italy's  there,  with  my  brave  civic  pair, 
To  disfranchise  despair! 

Fi^rgive  me.      Some  women  bear  children  in  strength, 
And  bite  back  the  cry  of  their  pain  in  self-scorn; 

]5ut  the  birth-pangs  of  nations  will  wring  us  at  length 
Into  wail  such  as  this;   and  we  sit  on,  forlorn, 
When  the  man-child  is  born. 

Dead!      One  of  them  shot  by  the  sea  in  the  west, 
And  one  of  them  shot  in  the  east  by  the  sea. 

Both,  both  my  boys!      If,  in  keeping  the  feast, 
You  want  a  great  song  for  your  Italy  free. 
Let  none  look  at  me/ 


FOREFATHERS'   DAY 

By  John  Davis  Long,  Lawyer,  Author;  Ciovcnior  of  Massachusetts, 
1882-88;  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  1897 — .  Born  in  Buckfield,  Maine. 
1838. 

From  a  speech  at  a  banquet  of  the  New  England  Society  in  tlie  City  of  New  York, 
Dec.  22,  i?84. 

Reprinted,  by  permission  of  the  author,  from  "  After  Dinner  and  Other  Speeches," 
published  by  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston.     Copyright  1895,  by  John  D.  Long. 

Never  since  Moses  led  the  children  of  Israel  toward  the 
promised  land  has  there  been  such  an  epic  as  the  voyage  of 
the  Mayflower  and  the  landing  at  Plymouth.  .  .  .  Ah,  how 
narrowly  and  mistakenly  we  limit  those  men  and  women  of 
the  Mayflotver  when  we  shrivel  them  with  the  winter  blast  of 
a  December  day,  harden  them  into  the  solemnity  of  ascetics, 
or  think  of  them  as  refugees  from  personal  ann()\-.uic(s. 

While  they  were,  as  some  one  has  said,  "  neither  I'urit.ins 
nor  persecutors,"  they  were,  as  is  too  rarely  said,  something 
far  more — they  were  poets,  they  were  idealists.      They  were 


212  JOH\'   nil -IS   lONC 

glad  children  of  the  light,  seeking  (or  "  more  light."  Ther 
were  warm  with  youth  and  advinturc,  yet  transcendentalists 
mounting  a  new  heaven.  ReatI  the  com])act  drawn  in  the 
cabin  of  the  Jfay^o7ver, — reail  in  it  the  statement  of  the 
object  of  their  coming,  and  say  where  has  the  genius  of  bard 
or  prophet  struck  such  a  strain  as  those  words  e.\j)ressive  of 
their  jiurpose:  "  I'or  the  glory  of  (lOil  and  advancement  of 
the  Christian  faith  and  honour  of  our  King  and  countrie  !  " 
Here  is  no  wretched  care  for  personal  interests,  no  craven 
thought  of  flight  or  escape  from  petty  persecutions,  no 
whining  .solicitude  for  individual  fortune,  but  the  high  soul 
of  men  who  "plant  a  colony"  and  found  an  emjjire  for 
nothing  less  than  the  glory  of  God,  the  advancement  of  their 
faith,  the  honor  of  their  country.  .  .  .  Do  you  think  any 
ingobler  spirit  than  the  poet's  wrought  this  vision,  or  would 
have  kept  them  there  when  the  first  winter  struck  down  half 
their  number,  and,  standing  on  the  hill,  they  watched  the 
sails  of  the  returning  Mayfloivcr  fade  out  in  the  light  of  an 
April. day  .'  .  .  .  You  think  they  shrank  from  the  savage  and 
heard  his  whoop  in  their  dreams.  That  is  because  you  are 
timid,  and  live  in  cities.  To  them  the  Indian's  first  word 
was  "  Welcome,  Englishmen."  With  now  and  then  a  rare 
and  wholesome  correction,  he  lived  in  peace  w-ith  them  for 
generations;  and  tradition  has  it  that  two  children  of  the 
forest  begged  to  be  buried  at  the  feet  of  Bradford,  and  now 
lie  with  him  on  Burial  Hill.  Fear!  Standish,  panting  for 
the  elbow-room  of  perfect  freedom,  and  separating  himself 
from  the  rest,  even  as  they  had  all  separated  themselves  from 
their  English  homes,  dwelt  ajiart  across  the  channel  in  the 
grandeur  of  his  .solitary  Duxbury  realm. 

You  think  there  was  no  softness  or  merriment  in  their 
lives;  but  you  forget  that  John  Alden  looked  in  the  eyes  of 
Priscilla  JNIuIlens  and  walked  with  her  in  the  "  lovers'  lanes  " 
of  the  "forest  primeval."  You  forget  to  catch  the  laugh 
with  which  Mary  Chilton,  ancestress  of  Copley  and  Lyntl- 
hur.st,   waded  from  the  boat   to  the  shore — first  woman  of 


FOREFATHERS'    DAY  213 

them  all  to  put  her  dainty  foot  on  American  soil.  You 
forget  the  romance  of  Alice  Southworth's  coming  later  over 
from  England  to  wed  the  young  widower  Bradford,  who  had 
loved  her  when  a  girl  among  the  English  hawthorns.    .    .    . 

These  Pilgrims  were  men  who  were  greater  than  the 
restrictions  of  English  life;  who  were  broader  than  the 
huckstering  and  traffic  of  their  Holland  tarrying-place;  and 
who,  therefore,  fled  from  both,  gasping  for  larger  breath. 
They  were  no  narrow  Puritans,  who  vexed  themselves  over 
questions  of  method  or  form  or  discipline  in  the  Church. 
They  broke  altogether  from  the  Church  itself,  were  separa- 
tists, and  set  up  their  own  establishment  for  themselves  and 
for  the  New  World, — themselves  an  evangel  of  religious  and 
civil  liberty.  .  .  .  Sympathy  for  the  hardships  of  the  Pilgrim 
fathers!  They  would  laugh  at  you.  They  never  dreamed 
of  yielding,  or  of  going  or  looking  back.  Why,  it  were 
worth  a  thousand  years,  a  cycle  of  Cathay,  to  have  breathed 
the  air  with  them,  to  have  put  one's  name  to  that  cabin 
compact,  to  have  planted  that  colony.    .    .    . 

Our  lives  are  comparatively  humdrum  prose  or  cheap 
doggerel.  Theirs  was  a  paean.  They  were  idealists,  poets, 
seers;  but  it  was  that  germinating  and  rich  idealism  which 
flowers  out  in  the  world's  glory  and  beneficence.  If  it  was 
poetry,  it  is  a  poetry  that  lives  after  them,  in  a  larger  vitality 
and  range.  Its  music  is  not  a  far-off  strain.  It  is  not  con- 
fmed  to  a  stone's  throw  from  the  rock  on  which  they  set 
foot.  It  rolls  across  a  continent  from  sea  to  sea.  ...  It 
is  poetry,  indeed,  but  the  poetry  of  industry,  of  growth,  of 
school  and  farm  and  shop  and  ship  and  car.  You  hear  it 
now  in  the  hum  of  ten  thousand  mills,  in  the  trip  of  a 
hundred  thousand  hammers,  in  the  bustle  of  myriad  ex- 
changes, in  the  voice  of  a  mighty  people  who  are  a  mighty 
people,  and  will  be  mightier  yet,  because,  and  so  far  as  they 
are  true  to  the  courage  of  the  Pilgrim  P'athers,  to  their  lofty 
stride  and  aspiration,  to  their  superiority  over  fortune  and 
the  dubt,  to  their  foundations  of  education  and  the  home. 


-'14  j.-i:,:i:s  m.douiiLi. 

and  lo  tijcir  consrcnition  f>f  themselves  to  tl»e  glory  of  God, 
the  advancement  of  faith,  and   the  hon<^r  of  their  country. 

Forefathers'  Day!  \\\'  have  no  day  that  is  not  Fore- 
fathers' Day.  Our  national  independence  is  their  se])ara- 
tism.  Standish  is  the  common  jjrototype  of  (Jrant  and 
Slierman.  Whatever  is  wholesome  in  our  social  life  is  the 
ellluence  of  their  homes.  tJur  constitutional  liberty  and  our 
ct)nstitutional  law  are  the  consummate  llower  of  their 
compact.  I  doubt  if  there  1)C  to-day  a  radical  footj)rint  that 
may  not  trace  itself  to  tliem ;  and  many  an  economic  and 
industrial  result  is  an  issue  from  their  good  sense  and  honest 
labor.  .  .  .  This  great  democracy  of  ours,  the  broadest- 
based  and  securest  government  in  the  world,  self-sufTicient, 
self-sustaining,  self-restrained,  and  developing  new  capacity 
to  meet  every  new  necessity  and  demand  of  its  own 
stupendous  and  startling  growth,  is  only  the  expansion  of 
their  own  democracy.  Let  us  do  our  dutv  by  it  as  faithful  1\- 
as  they  did  theirs.  Doing  that,  let  us  await  its  destiny  as 
calmly  as  did  they,  assured,  as  they  were,  that  liberty  is 
better  than  repression;  that  liberty,  making  and  obeying  its 
own  laws,  is  God;  and  that  unless  man,  made  in  His  image, 
is  a  failure,  the  self-government  of  a  free  and  educated 
people,  whatever  its  occasional  vicissitudes,  will  not  and 
cannot  fail. 

DANGEROUS    LEGISLATION 

P.y  Jamks    McDowkll,    Statesman;    Governor  of  Virginia,    1842-44; 
Member  of  Congress  from  Virginia,  1846-51. 

From  a  speech  made  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  February  23,  1849,  on  tlie 
formation  of  one  or  more  new  States  out  of  the  Territories  of  New  Mexico  and  Cali- 
fornia.    See  Ap/>endix  to  Congressional  Globe,  Feb.  23,  1849. 

Mr.  Chairman ;  When  I  pass  by  the  collective  parties  in 
this  case,  and  recall  the  particular  ones;  when  I  see  that  my 
own  State  is  as  deeply  implicated  in  the  trouble  and  the 
danger  of  it  as  any  other,  and  shares  to  the  full,  with  all  of 


DANGEROUS   LEGISLATION  215 

her  Southern  colleagues,  in  the  most  painful  apprehensions 
of  its  issue;  when  I  see  this,  I  turn  involuntarily,  and  with 
unaffected  deference  of  spirit,  and  ask.  What,  in  this  exigent 
moment  to  Virginia,  will  INIassachusetts  do?  Will  you,  too 
(I  speak  to  her  as  present  in  her  representatives), — will  you, 
too,  forgetting  all  the  past,  put  forth  a  hand  to  smite  her 
ignominiously  upon  the  cheek  ?  In  your  own  early  day  of 
deepest  extremity  and  distress — the  day  of  the  Boston  Port 
Bill — when  your  beautiful  capital  was  threatened  with  ex- 
tinction, and  England  was  collecting  her  gigantic  power  to 
sweep  your  liberties  away,  Virginia,  caring  for  no  odds  and 
counting  no  cost,  bravely,  generously,  instantly,  stepped 
forth  for  your  deliverance.  Addressing  her  through  the 
justice  of  your  cause  and  the  agonies  of  your  condition,  you 
asked  for  her  heart.  She  gave  it ;  with  scarce  the  reservation 
of  a  throb,  she  gave  it  freely  and  gave  it  all.  You  called 
upon  her  for  her  blood ;  she  took  her  children  from  her 
bosom  and  offered  them. 

But  in  all  this  she  felt  and  knew  that  she  was  more  than 
your  political  ally — more  than  your  political  friend.  She 
felt  and  knew  that  she  was  your  near,  natural-born  relation 
— such  in  virtue  of  your  common  descent,  but  such  far  more 
still  in  virtue  of  the  higher  attributes  of  a  congenial  and 
kindred  nature.  Do  not  be  startled  at  the  idea  of  common 
qualities  between  the  American  Cavalier  and  the  American 
Roundhead.  An  heroic  and  unconquerable  will,  differently 
directed,  is  the  pervasive  and  master  cement  in  the  character 
of  both.  Nourished  by  the  same  spirit,  sharing  as  twin 
sisters  in  the  struggle  of  the  heritage  of  the  same  revolution, 
ivhat  is  there  in  any  demand  of  national  faith,  or  of  consti- 
tutional duty,  or  of  public  morals,  which  should  separate 
them  now  ^ 

Give  us  but  a  part  of  that  devotion  which  glowed  in  the 
heart  of  the  younger  Pitt,  and  of  our  own  elder  Adams,  who, 
in  the  midst  of  their  agonies  forgot  not  the  countries  they 
had  lived  for,  but  mingled  with  the  spasms  of  thejr  djing: 


2l6  J. 4 MPS   M.nOH'F.iL 

hour  a  last  ami  imploring  appeal  to  tin-  Parent  of  all  mercies, 
that  lie  woulil  remember  in  eternal  blessings  the  land  of 
their  birth;  give  us  their  devotion — give  us  that  of  the  young 
enthusiast  of  Paris,  who,  listening  to  Mirabcau  in  one  of  his 
surpassing  vindications  of  human  rights,  ami  seeing  him  fall 
from  his  staml,  dying,  as  a  i)hysician  jiroclaimed,  for  the 
want  of  blood,  ru<;hed  to  the  spot,  and  as  lie  bent  over  the 
cxi)iring  man,  bared  his  arm  for  the  lancet,  and  crietl  again 
and  again  with  impassioned  voice:  "Here,  take  it — oh! 
take  it  from  me!  let  me  die,  so  that  Mirabcau  and  the 
liberties  of  my  country  may  not  perish!  "  Give  us  some- 
thing only  of  such  a  love  of  country,  and  wc  are  safe,  forever 
safe;  the  troubles  which  shadow  over  and  oppress  us  now  will 
pass  away  like  a  summer  cloud.  The  fatal  element  of  all 
our  discord  will  be  removed  from  among  us.   .   .    . 

It  is  said,  sir,  that  at  some  daik  hour  of  our  revolutionary 
contest,  when  army  after  army  had  been  lost;  when,  dis- 
pirited, beaten,  wretched,  the  heart  of  the  boldest  and 
faithfulest  died  within  them,  and  all  for  an  instant  seemed 
conquered,  except  the  unconquerable  soul  of  our  father-chief, 
— it  is  said  that  at  that  moment,  rising  above  all  the  auguries 
around  him,  and  buoyed  up  by  the  inspiration  of  his  im- 
mortal work  for  all  the  trials  it  could  bring,  he  aroused  anew 
the  sunken  spirit  of  his  associates  by  this  confident  and 
daring  declaration:  "  Strip  me,"  said  he,  "  of  the  dejected 
and  suffering  remnant  of  my  army — take  from  me  all  that  I 
have  left — leave  me  but  a  banner,  give  me  but  the  means  to 
plant  it  upon  the  mountains  of  West  Augusta,  and  I  will  yet 
draw  around  me  the  men  who  shall  lift  up  their  bleeding 
country  from  the  dust,  and  set  her  free!  "  Give  to  me,  who 
am  a  son  and  representative  here  of  the  same  West  Augusta, 
give  to  me  as  a  banner  the  propitious  measure  I  have 
endeavored  to  support,  help  me  to  plant  it  upon  this  moun- 
tain-top of  our  national  power,  and  the  land  of  Washington, 
undivided  and  unbroken,  will  be  our  land,  and  the  land  of 
our  children's  children  forever!     So  help  me  to  do  this  at 


THE  PURITAN  SABBATH  217 

this  hour,  and,  generations  hence  some  future  son  of  the 
South,  standing  where  I  stand,  in  the  midst  of  our  legitimate 
successors,  will  bless,  and  praise,  and  thank  God  that  he, 
too,  can  say  of  them,  as  I  of  you,  and  of  all  around  me — 
these,  these  are  my  brethren,  and  oh!  this,  this,  too,  is  my 
country ! 


THE    PURITAN    SABBATH 

By  Henry  van  Dyke,  Clergyman,  Professor,  Author,  Poet;  Pastor 
Brick  Presbyterian  Church,  New  York,  1882-99;  Professor  of  English, 
Princeton  University,  1899 — . 

From  an  address  made  at  the  annual  banquet  of  the  New  England  Society  in  New 
York  City,  Dec.  23,  1805  ;  the  anniversary  having  been  postponed  because  Forefathers' 
Day  that  year  fell  on  a  Sunday.     See  New  York  Tribune,  Dec.  24,  1895. 

The  Puritan  fenced  in  his  Sabbath  with  a  wall  of  iron. 
We  do  not  altogether  admire  the  architecture  of  that  wall ; 
but  let  us  never  forget  that  within  it  were  sheltered,  through 
stormy  centuries,  three  inestimable  treasures — the  sanctity 
of  human  rest,  as  well  as  of  human  labor;  the  peace  and 
order  of  the  Puritan  household,  and  the  dignity  and  sim- 
plicity of  common  worship.  Let  us  never  forget  that  out  of 
that  sacred  enclosure  issued  the  men  and  women,  trained 
and  solidified  by  self-restraint  and  sober  discipline,  who  were 
to  be  the  very  backbone  of  the  permanent  morality  of  this 
nation.    .    .    . 

There  is  no  question  of  the  day,  it  seems  to  me,  that 
comes  closer  to  the  life  of  the  people  and  affects  our  future 
welfare  more  deeply  than  the  Sunday  question,  with  all  that 
it  involves  of  personal  liberty,  civic  order,  the  rights  of  labor, 
and  the  freedom  of  conscience.  In  order  to  settle  it,  we 
must  free  our  minds  from  cant;  the  cant  of  politics  and  the 
cant  of  religion.  We  must  recognize  the  difference  between 
the  American  Sunday  and  the  Puritan  Sabbath.  The  one  is 
a  day  of  restraint,  the  other  is  a  day  of  liberty.  The  one  is 
a   religious  observance,    the  other  is   a  humane  institution. 


-MS  HluSKV    r.V.V   /)>-A7:- 

W  c  uui^lit  iu>t  to  coufusf  tlKiii,  iior  alttiiipt  tn  ncoiicilt' 
them  by  compromise.  Coinpromiso  in  in.ittcr.s  of  j)iiiicij)l(-- 
is  always  a  failure.    .   .   . 

For  those  who  believe  in  the  substance  of  the  i'uritan 
Sabbath  as  a  day  of  religit)us  devotion,  needful  for  the 
v.'hri>itian  life,  to  give  up  their  private  convictions  and  change 
their  j)ersonal  practice  to  conform  to  a  passing  fashion,  is  to 
make  a  false  compromise.  For  those  who  believe  in  tiie 
.\merican  .Sunday  as  a  day  of  secular  rest,  needful  for  the 
national  life,  to  narrow  its  liberty  ami  imperil  its  security  by 
overloading  it  with  restrictions  and  attempting  to  change  it 
into  a  day  of  forced  religion,  is  to  make  a  false  compromise. 
Clear  and  distinct,  the  two  days  stand  side  by  side;  or,  to 
speak  more  truly,  circle  within  circle,  sphere  within  sphere. 
'I'he  day  of  universal  repose  spreads  like  a  fair,  well-ordered 
garden,  in  whose  pleasant  ways  the  burdens  of  toil  and  the 
strifes  of  competition  shall  be  laid  aside,  and  all  men  shall 
be  free  to  rest  and  refresh  themselves  in  common  joy  and 
brotherly  regard.  Within  that  garden,  protected  by  its 
beautiful  peace,  stands  the  day  of  divine  worship,  like  a 
shining  temple,  into  which  none  shall  be  compelled,  but  all 
shall  be  invited,  to  enter.  There  they  will  learn  that  the 
deepest  rest  comes  through  atloratiun,  the  strongest  refresh- 
ment is  drawn  from  faith,  and  the  sweetest  music  is  that 
which  praises  God. 

Gentlemen,  let  us  maintain  the  liberty  of  the  garden,  and 
let  us  use  our  own  liberty  to  preserve  the  sanctity  of  the 
temple.  i\Iany  of  the  outward  forms  of  the  Puritan  Sabbath 
have  passed  away;  but  God  grant  that  its  spirit  and  sub- 
stance may  never  vanish  from  our  hearts  and  homes.  What 
memories  haunt  our  souls  so  strong,  so  precious,  as  those 
that  come  down  to  us  from  its  morning  hour  of  prayer 
around  the  household  altar,  its  noontide  hour  of  worshij)  in 
the  quiet  house  of  God,  its  evening  hour  of  music  in  the 
home,  where  voices  long  since  fallen  in  silence  joined  in  the 
sweet  songs  of  Zion  ?     All  our  lives  long  we  shall  remember 


THE  PURITAN   SABBATH  219 

these   things,    and   the   remembrance   will    make  us   better, 
braver,  more  loyal  and  more  steadfast  men. 

And  shall  our  children  have  no  such  memories  ?  Shall 
they  look  back  from  the  coming  conflict  and  turmoil  of  the 
twentieth  century  into  homes  where  there  was  a  Sunday  but 
no  Sabbath  ?  Nay,  will  you  not  rather  restore  to  your 
domestic  and  social  life  the  potency  and  promise  of  your 
true  Forefathers'  Day  ?  And  will  you  not  add  to  it  the 
milder  but  no  less  sacred  influence  of  that  other  day,  so  near 
at  hand,  which  my  forefathers  reverenced  and  cherished,  the 
day  of  St.  Nicholas,  the  merry  Christmas  Day  ?  There  is  no 
discord  between  them,  but  harmony  and  concord.  Before 
the  ancient  temple  at  Jerusalem  there  stood  two  pillars, 
Jachin  and  Boaz,  wreathed  with  lily-work  and  carven  with 
pomegranites.  So  let  these  two  memorial  days  stand  at  the 
doorway  of  our  houses,  like  shining,  steadfast  columns, 
which  never  shall  be  removed,  the  Sabbath  Day  and  Christ- 
mas Day,  emblem  of  loyal  faith  and  self-restraint,  emblem 
of  joyous  hope  and  glad  good-will  to  all,  upholding  with 
undesecrated  purity  and  undiminished  strength 

"  The  homely  beauty  of  the  good  old  cause, 
Our  peace,  our  fearful  innocence. 
And  pure  religion  breathing  household  laws." 

From  the  shelter  of  such  holy  homes  a  new  manhood 
shall  come  forth;  serene,  thoughtful,  peaceful;  prepared  and 
able  to  defend  the  nation's  honor,  which  is  righteousness, 
and  to  preserve  the  nation's  glory,  which  is  peace. 


aao  ^A'.V.-f   liUZAlHiTH   DICKISSOW 


THF.    ASSAULT    ON    TORT    WAGNER 

By    Anna    Ki  i/ aui  i  ii     Dickinson,     l.octiiror,     Nnvi-list,     I'Uiywri^jlit. 
It(.>nt  ill  rhilailcl|>lii:i,   1S4J. 

Tlirough  tlic  whole  afternoon  lliere  IkkI  l)e<n  a  trenientlous 
cannonailing  of  tlie  fort  from  the  i;unl)oats  anil  tlie  land 
forces;  the  smooth,  regular  engineer  lines  were  broken,  and 
the  fresh-sodded  embankments  torn  and  rougheneil  by  the 
unceasing  rain  of  shot  and  shell.  About  six  o'clock  there 
came  moving  up  the  island,  over  the  burning  sands  and 
under  the  burning  sky,  a  stalwart,  splendid-appearing  set  of 
men,  who  looked  equal  to  any  daring,  and  capable  of  any 
heroism, — men  whom  nothing  could  daunt  and  few  things 
subdue.  As  this  regiment,  the  famous  Fifty-fourth,  came  up 
the  island  to  take  its  place  at  the  head  of  the  storming  party 
in  the  assault  on  Wagner,  it  was  cheered  on  all  sides  by  the 
white  soldiers,  who  recognized  and  honored  the  heroism 
which  it  had  already  shown,  and  of  which  it  was  to  give  such 
new  and  sublime  proof. 

The  evening,  or  rather  the  afternoon,  was  a  lurid,  sultry 
one.  Great  masses  of  clouds,  heavy  and  black,  were  piled 
in  the  western  sky,  fringed  here  and  there  by  an  angry  red, 
and  torn  by  vivid  streams  of  lightning.  Not  a  breath  of 
wind  shook  the  leaves  or  stirred  the  high,  rank  grass  by  the 
water-side;  a  portentous  and  awful  stillness  filled  the  air — 
the  stillness  felt  by  nature  before  a  devastating  storm. 
Quiet,  with  the  like  awful  and  portentous  calm,  the  black 
regiment,  headed  by  its  young,  fair-haired,  knightly  colonel, 
marched  to  its  destined  place  and  action. 

Here  the  men  were  addressed  in  a  few  brief  and  burning 
words  by  their  heroic  commander.  Here  they  were  besought 
to  glorify  their  whole  race  by  the  luster  of  their  deeds;  here 
their  faces  shone  with  a  look  which  said :  ' '  Though  men, 
we  are  ready  to  do  deeds,  to  achieve  triumphs,  worthy  of 
the  cods  I  "     Here  the  word  of  command  was  given:   "  We 


THE  ASSAULT   ON   FORT   IVAGNER  221 

arc  ordered  and  expected  to  take  Battery  Wagner  at  the  point 
of  the  bayonet.     Are  you  ready  ?  " 

"  Ay,  Ay,  sir!  ready!  "  was  the  answer.  And  tlie  order 
went  pealing  down  the  line:  "  Ready !  Close  ranks!  Charge 
bayonets !  Forward  !  Double-quick,  march  !  ' ' — and  away 
they  went  under  a  scattering  fire  in  one  compact  line  till 
within  one  hundred  feet  of  the  fort,  when  the  storm  of  death 
broke  upon  them. 

Every  gun  belched  forth  its  great  shot  and  shell;  every 
rifle  whizzed  out  its  sharp-singing,  death-freighted  messen- 
ger. The  men  wavered  not  for  an  instant;  forward — forward 
they  went;  plunged  into  the  ditch;  waded  through  the  deep 
water,  no  longer  of  a  muddy  hue,  but  stained  crimson  with 
their  blood,  and  commenced  to  climb  the  parapet.  The 
foremost  line  fell  and  then  the  next  and  the  next.  On,  over 
t!ie  piled-up  mounds  of  dead  and  dying,  of  wounded  and 
slain,  to  the  mouth  of  the  battery;  seizing  the  guns; 
bayoneting  the  gunners  at  their  posts;  planting  their  flag 
and  struggling  around  it;  their  leader  on  the  walls,  sword  in 
hand,  his  blue  eyes  blazing,  his  fair  face  aflame,  his  clear 
voice  calling  out:  "Forward,  my  brave  boys!" — then 
plunging  into  the  hell  of  battle  before  him. 

As  the  men  were  clambering  up  the  parapet,  their  color- 
sergeant  was  shot  dead,  the  colors  trailing,  stained  and  wet, 
in  the  dust  beside  him.  A  nameless  hero  sprang  from  the 
ranks,  seized  the  staff  from  his  dying  hand,  and  with  it 
mounted  upward.  A  ball  struck  his  right  arm;  but  ere  it 
could  fall  shattered  by  his  side,  his  left  hand  caught  the  flag 
and  carried  it  onward.  Even  in  the  mad  sweep  of  assault 
and  death,  the  men  around  him  found  breath  and  time  to 
hurrah,  and  those  behind  him  pressed  more  gallantly  forward 
to  follow  such  a  lead.  He  kept  in  his  place  the  colors  flying 
(though  faint  with  loss  of  blood  and  wrung  with  agony)  up 
the  slippery  steep,  up  to  the  walls  of  the  fort;  on  the  wall 
itself,  planting  the  flag  where  the  men  made  their  brief, 
splendid  stand,  and  melted  away  like  snow  before  furnace- 


222  .-/.VA'.-r   F.I.IZ.-IBF.TH   PICKIKSON 

heat.  Here  ;\  bayoiu-t  thrust  intt  him  and  l)ruu|^lit  liini 
down,  a  groat  wouiul  in  his  brave  breast,  but  lie  did  not 
yicKl ;  droppini;  to  his  knees,  j)ressing  his  unl)roken  arm 
upon  the  p^aping  wound — bracing  himself  against  a  dead 
comrade — the  endors  still  flew;  an  inspiration  to  the  men 
about  him,  a  defiance  to  the  foe. 

At  last,  when  the  shattered  ranks  fell  back,  sullenly  and 
slowlv  retreating,  it  was  seen  by  those  who  watched  him  that 
lie  was  painfully  W(.)rking  his  way  downward,  still  holding 
aloft  the  Hag,  bent  evidently  on  saving  it,  and  saving  it  as 
flag  had  rarely  if  ever  been  saved  before.  Xow  and  then  lie 
paused  at  some  impediment;  it  was  where  the  dead  and 
dying  were  piled  so  thickly  as  to  compel  him  to  make  a 
detour.  Now  and  then  he  rested  a  moment,  to  press  his 
arm  tighter  against  his  torn  and  open  breast.  Slowly,  jiain- 
fuUy,  he  dragged  himself  onward — step  by  step  down  the 
hill,  inch  by  inch  across  the  ground — to  the  door  of  the 
hospital ;  and  then,  while  dying  eyes  brightened,  while  dying 
men  held  back  their  souls  from  the  eternities  to  cheer  him, 
gasped  out:  "  I  did — but  do — my  duty,  boys — and  the  dear 
— old  flag — never  once— touched  the  ground";  and  then 
away  from  the  reach  and  sight  of  its  foes,  in  the  midst  of  its 
defenders,  who  loved  and  were  dying  for  it,  the  flag  at  last 
fell. 

The  next  day  a  flag  of  truce  went  up  to  beg  the  body  of 
the  heroic  young  chief  who  had  so  bravely  led  that  marvelous 
assault.  It  came  back  without  him.  A  ditch,  deep  and 
wide,  had  been  dug;  his  body  and  those  of  twenty-two  of  his 
men,  found  dead  upon  and  about  him,  flung  into  it  in  one 
common  heap ;  and  the  word  sent  back  was :  ' '  We  have 
buried  him  with  his  niggers." 

It  was  well  done.  Slavery^  buried  these  men,  black  and 
white  together — black  and  white  in  a  common  grave.  Let 
liberty  see  to  it,  then,  that  black  and  white  be  raised 
together  in  a  life  better  than  the  old. 


A    TRIBUTE    TO    THE   MEN   OE   THE  MAINE 


A   TRIBUTE   TO   THE    MEN    OF   THE   MAINE 

By    Robert    G.    Cousins,    Lawyer;    Member  of  Congress  from  Iowa, 
1892 — .     Born  in  Cedar  County,  Iowa,  1859. 

Delivered  in  the  House  of  Representatives  March  21,  i8g8  ;  the  House  having  under 
consideration  tlie  bill  for  the  relief  of  the  sufferers  by  the  destruction  of  the  U.S.S. 
Maine  in  the  harbor  of  Habana,  Cuba,  March  15,  189S. 

Mr.  Speaker:  Whether  this  measure  shall  prevail,  either 
in  the  form  in  which  it  has  come  from  the  committee  or  in 
the  form  as  proposed  in  the  amendment,  it  is  both  appro- 
priate and  just;  but  hardly  is  it  mentionable  in  contempla- 
tion of  the  great  calamity  to  which  it  appertains.  It  will  be 
an  incidental  legislative  foot-note  to  a  page  of  history  that 
shall  be  open  to  the  eyes  of  this  Republic  and  of  the  world 
for  all  time  to  come.  No  human  speech  can  add  anything 
to  the  silent  gratitude,  the  speechless  reverence,  already 
given  by  a  great  and  grateful  nation  to  its  dead  defenders 
and  to  their  living  kin.  No  act  of  Congress  providing  for 
their  needs  can  make  a  restitution  for  their  sacrifice.  Human 
nature  does,  in  human  ways,  its  best,  and  still  feels  deep  in 
debt. 

Expressions  of  condolence  have  come  from  every  country 
and  from  every  clime,  and  every  nerve  of  steel  and  ocean 
cable  has  carried  on  electric  breath  the  sweetest,  tendercst 
words  of  sympathy  for  that  gallant  crew  who  manned  the 
Maine.  But  no  human  recompense  can  reach  them. 
Humanity  and  time  remain  their  everlasting  debtors. 

It  was  a  brave  and  strong  and  splendid  crew.  They  were 
a  part  of  the  blood  and  bone  and  sinew  of  our  land.  Two 
of  them  were  from  my  native  State  of  Iowa.  Some  were 
only  recently  at  the  United  States  Naval  Academy,  where 
they  had  so  often  heard  the  morning  and  the  evening  saluta- 
tion to  the  flag — that  flag  which  had  been  interwoven  with 
the  dearest  memories  of  their  lives,  that  had  colored  all  their 
friendships  with  the  lasting  blue  of  true  fidelity.  But 
whether  they  came  from  naval   school  or  civil  life,  from  one 


?-M  RiVilKT  (;.    (.\)l'Sl\'S 

State  or  anotlur,  tiny  calkil  laili  other  coniraik'— that  '^cm 
of  humaii  hinj;ua;::c  which  sinnctinu-s  imans  luit  a  UttU-  Uss 
than  love  aiul  a  little  more  than  frienclship,  that  gentle 
salutation  of  the  human  heart  whieh  livts  in  .ill  tlu'  l.ini^uages 
of  man,  that  winds  antl  turns  ani.1  runs  through  all  the  joys 
and  sorrows  of  the  human  race,  through  ileed  and  thought 
And  dnam,  through  song  ami  toil  anil  l)attk--rn.  Id. 

Xo  foe  had  I'viT  challenged  tluin.  The  worUl  can  iiev<r 
know  how  brave  they  were.  They  never  knew  ck'frat ;  they 
never  shall.  While  at  tlieir  j)osts  of  duty  slet.])  lured  them 
into  the  abyss;  then  death  unlocked  their  slumbering  eyes 
but  for  an  instant  to  behold  its  dreadfid  carnival,  most  of 
them  just  when  life  was  full  of  hope  and  all  its  tides  were  at 
their  highest,  grandest  flow;  ju.st  when  the  early  sunbeams 
were  falling  on  the  steeps  of  fame  and  flooding  all  life's  land- 
scape far  out  into  the  dreamy,  di.stant  horizon;  just  at  that 
age  when  all  the  nymphs  were  making  diadems  and  garlands, 
waving  laurel  wreaths  before  the  eyes  of  young  and  eager 
nature — just  then,  when  death  seemed  most  unnatural. 

Hovering  above  the  dark  waters  of  that  mysteric>us  harbor 
of  Habana,  the  black-winged  vulture  watches  for  the  dead, 
while  over  it  and  over  all  there  is  the  eagle's  piercing  eye 
sternly  watching  for  the  truth. 

Whether  the  appropriation  carried  by  this  resolution  shall 
be  ultimately  charged  to  fate  or  to  some  foe  shall  soon 
appear.  ^Meanwhile  a  patient  and  a  jjatriotic  people, 
enlightened  by  the  lessons  of  our  history,  remembering  the 
woes  of  war,  both  to  the  vanquished  and  victorious,  are 
ready  for  the  truth  and  ready  for  t!.eir  duty. 

•'The  tumult  and  tlie  shouting  dies — 
Tlie  captains  avid  the  kings  depart — 

Still  stands  thine  ancient  sacrifice, 
An  humble  and  a  contrite  heart. 

Lord  God  of  Hosts,  he  with  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget." 


THl:    SOLDIER'S   I'AITH  225 


THE   SOLDIER'S   FAITH 

By  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  Jurist,  Professor,  Author;  Chief  Justice 
of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Massachusetts,  1899 — .  Burn  in  Boston, 
Mass.,  1 841. 

Taken  from  an  address  delivered  on  Memorial  Day,  May  30,  1895,  at  a  meeting 
called  by  the  graduating  class  of  Harvard  University.  See  "  Speeches  by  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes,"  published  by  Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  Uoston,  Mass.,  1896;  also 
J/,t>  vard  Graduate's  Magazine,  December,  1895.     By  permission  of  the  author. 

The  ideals  of  the  past  for  men  have  been  drawn  from  war, 
as  those  for  women  have  been  drawn  from  motherhood.  For 
all  our  prophecies,  I  doubt  if  we  are  ready  to  give  up  our 
inheritance.  Who  is  there  who  would  not  like  to  be  thought 
a  gentleman  .''  Yet  what  has  that  name  been  built  on  but 
the  soldier's  clioice  of  honor  rather  than  life  }  To  be  a 
soldier  or  descended  from  soldiers,  in  time  of  peace  to  be 
ready  to  give  one's  life  rather  than  to  suffer  disgrace, — that 
is  what  the  word  has  ineant;  and  if  we  try  to  claim  it  at  less 
cost  than  a  splendid  carelessness  for  life,  we  are  trying  to 
steal  the  good-will  without  the  responsibilities  of  the  place. 
We  will  not  dispute  about  tastes.  The  man  of  the  future 
may  w-ant  something  different.  But  who  of  us  could  endure 
a  world,  although  cut  up  into  five-acre  lots  and  having  no 
man  upon  it  who  was  not  well  fed  and  well  housed,  without 
the  divine  folly  of  honor,  without  the  senseless  passion  for 
knowledge  outreaching  the  flaming  bounds  of  the  possible, 
without  ide.nls  the  essence  of  which  is  that  they  never  can  be 
achieved  .-'  I  do  not  know  what  is  true.  I  do  not  know  the 
meaning  of  the  universe.  But  in  the  midst  of  doubt,  in  the 
collapse  of  creeds,  there  is  one  thing  I  do  not  doubt,  that- 
no  man  who  lives  in  the  same  world  with  most  of  us  can 
doubt,  and  that  is,  that  the  faith  is  true  and  adorable  which 
leads  a  soldier  to  throw  away  his  life  in  obedience  to  a 
blindly  accepted  duty,  in  a  cause  which  he  little  understands, 
in  a  plan  of  campaign  of  which  he  has  no  notion,  under 
tactics  of  which  he  does  not  see  the  use. 

Most  men  who  know  battle   know   the  cynic   force   with 


2  26  oiiiTR  in-Nnr.Li.  holmfs 

which  the  thoughts  uf  cDininon  sense  will  assail  tluin  in 
timi'S  of  stress;  but  they  know  tli;U  in  their  qriwti'st  moments 
f.iiih  lias  tranii)leil  those  thoughlN  mult  r  Innt.  il  yoii  liave 
been  in  line,  suppose  on  Trenionl  street  mall,  onkrcd 
simply  to  wait  and  to  do  notliinj;,  and  have  watched  the 
enemy  bring  their  guns  to  bear  upon  you  ilown  a  gentle 
slope  like  that  from  Ik-acon  street,  have  seen  the  pufi  of  the 
firing,  have  felt  the  burst  of  the  sjiherieal  case-shot  as  it  came 
toward  you.  have  heard  and  seen  the  shrieking  fragments  go 
tearing  through  your  company,  and  liave  known  that  the 
next  or  the  next  shot  carries  your  fate;  if  you  have  advanced 
in  line  and  have  seen  ahead  of  you  the  spot  whicli  }()u  must 
pass  where  the  rifle  bullets  are  striking;  if  you  have  ridden 
by  night  at  a  walk  toward  the  blue  line  of  fire  at  the  dead- 
angle  of  Spottsylvania,  where  for  twenty-four  hours  the 
soldiers  were  fighting  on  the  two  sides  of  an  earthwork,  and 
in  the  morning  the  dead  and  dying  lay  piled  in  a  row  six 
deep,  and  as  you  rode  have  heard  the  bullets  splashing  in 
the  mud  and  earth  about  you;  if  you  have  been  on  the 
picket-line  at  night  in  a  black  and  unknown  wood,  have 
heard  the  spat  of  the  bullets  upon  the  trees,  and  as  you 
moved  have  felt  your  foot  slip  upon  a  dead  man's  body;  if 
you  have  had  a  blind,  fierce  gallop  against  the  enemy,  witli 
your  blood  up  and  a  pace  that  left  no  time  for  fear, — if,  in 
short,  as  some,  I  hope  many,  who  hear  me  have  known, 
you  have  known  the  vicissitudes  of  terror  and  of  triumph  in 
war,  you  know  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  the  faith  I  spoke 
of.  You  know  your  own  weakness  and  are  modest;  but  yon 
know  that  man  has  in  him  that  unspeakable  somewhat  which 
makes  him  capable  of  miracle,  able  to  lift  himself  by  the 
might  of  his  own  soul  unaided,  able  to  face  annihilation  for 
a  blind  belief.   ... 

War,  when  you  are  at  it,  is  horrible  and  dull.  It  is  only 
when  time  has  passed  that  you  see  that  its  message  was 
divine.  I  hope  it  may  be  long  before  we  are  called  again  to 
sit  at  that  master's  feet.     But  some  teacher  of  the  kind  we 


THE  SOLDIER'S  FyllTH  227 

all  need.  .  .  .  We  need  it  everywhere  and  at  all  times.  For 
high  and  dangerous  action  teaches  us  to  believe  as  right 
beyond  dispute  things  for  which  our  doubting  minds  are 
slow  to  find  words  of  proof.  Out  of  heroism  grows  faith  in 
the  worth  of  heroism,    .    .    . 

We  do  not  save  our  traditions,  in  this  country.  The 
regiments  whose  battle-fiags  were  not  large  enough  to  hold 
the  names  of  the  battles  they  had  fought  vanished  with  the 
surrender  of  Lee,  although  their  memories  inherited  would 
have  made  heroes  for  a  century.  It  is  the  more  necessary 
to  learn  the  lesson  afresh  from  perils  newly  sought,  and  per- 
haps it  is  not  vain  for  us  to  tell  the  new  generation  what  we 
learned  in  our  day,  and  what  we  still  believe.  That  the  joy 
of  life  is  living,  is  to  put  out  all  one's  powers  as  far  as  they 
will  go;  that  the  measure  of  power  is  obstacles  overcome; 
to  ride  boldly  at  what  is  in  front  of  you,  be  it  fence  or 
enemy;  to  pray,  not  for  comfort,  but  for  combat;  to  keep 
the  soldier's  faith  against  the  doubts  of  civil  life,  more 
besetting  and  harder  to  overcome  than  all  the  misgivings  of 
the  battle-field,  and  to  remember  that  duty  is  not  to  be 
proved  in  the  evil  day,  but  then  to  be  obeyed  unquestioning; 
to  love  glory  more  than  the  temptations  of  wallowing  ease, 
but  to  know  that  one's  final  judge  and  only  rival  is  one's 
self;  with  all  our  failures  in  act  and  thought,  these  things 
we  learned  from  noble  enemies  in  Virginia  or  Georgia  or  on 
the  Mississippi   thirty  years  ago;  vhese  things  we  believe  to 

be  true. 

"  'Life  is  not  lost,'  said  she,  'for  whicli  is  bouglit 
Endlesse  renowm.' 

We  learned  also,  and  we  still  believe,  that  love  of  country 
is  not  yet  an  idle  name. 

"  Deare  countrey  !     O  how  dearely  deare 

Ought  thy  remembraunce,  and  perpetual!  band 
Be  to  thy  foster-child,  that  fn)m  thy  hand 
Did  commun  breath  and  nouriture  receave  ! 
How  brutish  is  it  not  to  understand 
How  much  to  her  we  owe,  that  all  us  gave; 
That  gave  unto  us  all,  whatever  good  we  hav  '" 


»a8  RICH.4Rn  H.-iRDlSG    D.H'IS 


THE    DEATH    OF    RODRIGUEZ 

Hy   KiflivRD  IlAKniNi;   Davis,  Novelist,  Short  story  writer.  Jmirnalist. 
I5orn  ill  I'liiladclphi.i,  iVnii.,   i8(>4. 

Reprinted,  by  permission  of  the  publisher,  (roni  "  Cuba  in  \V,ir  Time."  tupyriglit 
1898.  l>y  K.  H.  Russell.  New  York. 

Ailolfi)  Rodrii;iicz  \vas  the  only  sun  of  a  L'lihan  farmer. 
When  tlie  revolution  broke  out  ynuui^  KmlriL^ucz  joined  ilie 
insurgents,  leaving  his  father  and  mother  and  two  sisters  at 
the  farm.  He  was  taken  by  the  .""Spanish,  was  tried  by  a 
militar)'  court  for  bearing  arms  against  the  government,  and 
sentenced  to  be  shot  by  a  fusillade  some  morning  before 
sunrise.  His  execution  took  place  a  half  mile  distant  from 
the  city,  on  the  great  plain  that  stretches  from  the  forts  out 
to  the  hills,  beyond  which  Rodriguez  had  lived  for  nineteen 
years. 

There  had  been  a  full  moon  the  night  preceding  the  execu- 
tion, and  when  the  squad  of  soldiers  marched  out  from  town 
it  was  still  shining  brightly  through  the  mists.  It  lighted  a 
plain  two  miles  in  extent  broken  by  ridges  and  gullies  and 
covered  with  thick,  high  grass  and  witli  bunches  of  cactus 
and  palmetto.  In  the  hollow  of  the  ridges  the  mist  lay  like 
broad  lakes  of  water,  and  on  one  side  of  the  plain  stood  the 
^valls  of  the  old  town.  On  the  other  rose  hills  covered  with 
royal  palms,  that  showed  white  in  the  moonlight,  like 
hundreds  of  marble  columns.  A  line  of  tiny  camp-fires  that 
the  sentries  had  built  during  the  night  stretched  between  the 
forts  at  regular  intervals  and  burned  brightly. 

As  the  light  increased  a  mass  of  people  came  hurrying  from 
the  town  with  two  l)lack  figures  leading  them,  and  the 
soldiers  drew  up  at  attention,  and  part  of  the  double  line  fcU 
back  and  left  an  opening  in  the  square. 

The  merciful  Spaniards  made  the  prisoner  walk  for  over 
half  a  mile  across  the  broken  surface  of  the  fields.  I 
expected   to  find  the  man  stumbling  and   faltering  on  this 


THE   DEATH   OF  RODRIGUEZ  229 

rnu'l  journey,  but  as  he  came  nearer  I  saw  that  he  led  all 
tlie  others,  and  the  priests  on  either  side  of  him  were  tripping 
on  their  gowns  and  stumbling  over  the  hollows,  in  their 
efforts  to  keep  pace  with  him  as  he  walked,  erect  and 
soldierly,  at  a  quick  step  in  advance  of  them. 

He  had  a  handsome,  gentle  face  of  the  peasant  type,  a 
light,  pointed  beard,  great  wistful  eyes,  and  a  mass  of  curly 
black  hair.  He  was  shockingly  young  for  such  a  sacrifice, 
and  looked  more  like  a  Neapolitan  than  a  Cuban.  You 
could  imagine  him  sitting  on  the  quay  at  Naples  or  Genoa, 
lolling  in  the  sun  and  showing  his  white  teeth  when  he 
laughed.  He  wore  a  new  scapula  around  his  neck,  hanging 
outside  his  linen  blouse. 

It  was  very  quickly  finished  with  rough,  and,  but  for  one 
frightful  blunder,  with  merciful  swiftness.  The  crowd  fell 
back  when  it  came  to  the  square,  and  the  condemned  man, 
the  priests,  and  the  firing  squad  of  six  young  volunteers 
passed  in  and  the  line  closed  behind  them. 

Rodriguez  bent  and  kissed  the  cross  which  the  priest  held 
up  before  him.  He  then  walked  to  where  the  officer  directed 
him  to  stanfl,  and  turned  his  back  to  the  square  and  faced 
the  hills  and  the  road  across  them  which  led  to  his  father's 
farm.  As  the  officer  gave  the  first  command  he  straightened 
himself  as  far  as  the  cords  would  allow,  and  held  up  his  head 
and  fixed  his  eyes  immovably  on  the  morning  light  which 
had  just  begun  to  show  above  the  hills. 

He  made  a  picture  of  such  pathetic  helplessness,  but  of 
such  courage  and  dignity,  that  he  reminded  me  on  the 
instant  of  that  statue  of  Nathan  Hale,  which  stands  in  the 
City  Hall  Park,  above  the  roar  of  Broadway,  and  teaches  a 
lesson  daily  to  the  hurrying  crowds  of  money-makers  who 
pass  beneath.  But  there  was  this  difference,  that  Rodriguez, 
while  probably  as  willing  to  give  six  lives  for  his  country  as 
was  the  American  rebel,  being  only  a  peasant,  did  not  think 
to  say  so,  and  he  will  not,  in  consequence,  live  in  bronze 
during  the  lives  of  many  men,  but  will  be  remembered  only 


230  KicH.iKn  H.-tKiVNC  n.-tns 

as  Diio  o(  thirty  C'ubaiis,    one  of  whom   was  shot  at   Santa 
Clara  on  each  succccilini:;  ihiy  at  siinriso. 

■'riic  olliccr  hail  given  the  oriler,  tlie  nun  had  raiseil  their 
pieces,  and  the  condemned  man  hail  luard  the  elicks  of  the 
triggers  as  they  were  jnilleil  back,  and  lie  had  not  moved. 
And  then  happened  one  of  the  most  cruelly  refined,  though 
unintentional,  acts  of  torture  that  one  can  very  well  imagine. 
As  the  oflicer  slowly  raised  his  sword,  preparatory  to  giving 
the  signal,  one  of  the  mounted  officers  rode  uj)  to  him  and 
pointed  out  silently,  that  the  Hring  squad  were  so  placed  that 
when  they  fired  they  would  shoot  several  of  the  soldiers 
stationed  on  the  extreme  end  of  the  scjuare. 

Their  captain  motioned  his  men  to  lower  their  pieces,  and 
then  walked  across  the  grass  and  laid  his  hand  on  the 
shoulder  of  the  waiting  prisoner.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  think 
what  that  shock  must  have  been.  The  man  had  steeled 
himself  to  receive  a  volley  of  bullets  in  the  back.  He 
believed  that  in  the  next  instant  he  would  be  in  another 
world;  he  had  heard  the  command  given,  had  heard  the  click 
of  the  IMausers  as  the  locks  caught — and  then,  at  that 
supreme  moment,  a  human  hand  had  been  laid  upon  his 
shoulder  and  a  voice  spoke  in  his  ear. 

You  would  expect  that  any  man  who  had  been  snatched 
back  to  life  in  such  a  fashion  would  start  and  tremble  at  the 
reprieve,  or  would  break  dow-n  altogether,  but  this  boy 
turned  his  head  steadily,  and  followed  with  his  eyes  the 
direction  of  the  officer's  sword,  then  nodded  his  head  gravely, 
and  with  his  shoulders  squared,  took  up  a  new  position, 
straightened  his  back  again,  and  once  more  held  himself 
erect.  As  an  exhibition  of  self-control  this  should  surely 
rank  above  feats  of  heroism  performed  in  battle,  where  there 
are  thousands  of  comrades  to  give  inspiration.  This  man 
was  alone,  in  sight  of  the  hills  he  knew,  with  only  enemies 
about  him,  with  no  source  to  draw  on  for  strength  but  that 
which  lay  within  himself. 

The  officer  of  the  firing  squad,  mortified  by  his  blunder, 


THE  DEATH   OF  RODRIGUEZ  231 

hastily  whipped  up  his  sword,  the  men  once  more  leveled 
their  rifles,  the  sword  rose,  dropped,  and  the  men  fired.  At 
the  report  the  Cuban's  head  snapped  back  almost  between 
his  shoulders,  but  his  body  fell  slowly,  as  though  some  one 
had  pushed  him  gently  forward  from  behind  and  he  had 
stumbled.  He  sank  on  his  side  in  the  wet  grass  without  a 
struggle  or  sound,  and  did  not  move  again. 

It  was  difficult  to  believe  that  he  meant  to  lie  there,  that 
it  could  be  ended  so  without  a  word,  that  the  man  in  the 
linen  suit  would  not  get  up  on  his  feet  and  continue  to  walk 
on  over  the  hills  to  his  home.  But  the  figure  lay  on  the 
grass  untouched  and  no  one  seemed  to  remember  that  it  had 
walked  there  of  itself. 

It  was  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  the  squad  shook  itself  like 
a  great  snake,  and  then  broke  into  little  pieces  and  started 
off  jauntily,  stumbling  in  the  high  grass  and  striving  to  keep 
step  to  the  music.  From  all  parts  of  the  city  the  church- 
bells  jangled  out  the  call  for  early  mass,  and  the  whole 
world  of  Santa  Clara  seemed  to  stir  and  stretch  itself  and  to 
wake  to  welcome  the  day  just  begun. 

But  as  I  fell  in  at  the  rear  of  the  procession  and  looked 
back,  the  figure  of  the  young  Cuban,  who  was  no  longer  a 
part  of  the  world  of  Santa  Clara,  was  asleep  in  the  wet  grass, 
with  his  motionless  arms  still  tightly  bound  behind  him,  with 
the  scapula  twisted  awry  across  his  face  and  the  blood  from 
his  breast  sinking  into  the  soil  he  had  tried  to  free. 


asa  ini.ii.-i.M  I  rsris  Kissni.L 


THK    C0MM0N>X'1:ALTH    of    MASSACHUSETTS 

Ky  \\  II  I  lAM  lusris  Rts^iKi.i .  l.;iwy<T.  StalrsnKin;  (■ovcnior  of  Massa- 
cliusetis.  1800-93.  Ikirii  in  Cambriiige,  Mass.,  1857;  died  in  Canada, 
lS<>6. 

Krom  a  speecli  m.-i(le  at  the  aiiiuial  fciitival  of  the  Now  KiiglaiiJ  ^iuciL■ty  in  the  City  of 
New  York,  Dec.  22,  1843.     See  New  York   I  riouHi,  l)ec.  jj,  1S93. 

Thomas  \V.  MiRj^insonin  his  introduction  to  •'  Speeches  and  Addresses 
ofW.  K.  Russell."  says  :  "No  one  ever  heard  him  utter  tlie  words,  '  the 
«lcar  old  Commonwealth,'  without  discoverin»j  that  he  lias  what  the 
French  call  '  tears  in  his  voice  ';  and  no  one  can  know  liiui  well  without 
recognizing  that  those  thrilling  tones  represent  in  this  case  profound 
feeling." 

Gladly  to-nip;ht  when  for  the  last  time  I  speak  for  Massa- 
chusetts officially,  I  avail  myself  of  the  privilege  of  laying  at 
her  feet  the  humble  tribute  of  a  loving  son. 

One  is  apt  to  judge  a  State  solely  by  evidence  of  her 
material  prosperity;  to  think  only  of  her  acres  and  dollar.^, 
her  population  and  cities,  her  industries  and  material 
resources.  Important  anil  great  as  these  are,  I  fancy  the 
Puritans  would  have  called  tlicm  "  the  outward  things,"  and 
not  the  only  or  the  truest  test  of  her  real  strength  and 
grandeur.  Or  else  one  thinks  of  her  only  as  a  great  power, 
ever  enforcing  obedience  to  her  sovereign  will.  To  us,  her 
children  and  citizens,  she  is  far  less  a  governing  power  than 
a  guiding,  uplifting  influence,  ever  setting  before  us  high 
ideals  of  life  and  its  meaning,  and  ever  leading  in  great 
agitations  for  freedom  and  humanity.  This  is  the  real 
Massachusetts.  'I"o  understand  her,  one  must  go  back  to 
the  early  days  and  work  which  to-night  we  commemorate. 

They  were  wise,  farseeing  men  who  founded  our  colony 
and  Commonwealth.  It  seemed  to  be  given  them  to  look 
down  the  future  and  to  know  that  they  were  church-building 
and  nation-building,  founding  institutions  which  were  to 
last  as  long  as  men  should  fear  G(jd  and  love  libLity. 

They  were  serious  men,  these,  our  founders  and  forefathers. 
We  laugh  now  at  their  long  faces  and  mournful  manr^^s, 


THE  COMMOMM'^EALTH  OF  MASSACHUSETTS       233 

but  wc  forget  that  theirs  was  no  holiday  pastime.  They 
were  not  seeking  how  easiest  to  live,  but  how  best  to  live 
"for  God's  glory  and  the  Church's  good."  They  bound 
Church  and  State  together  in  a  union  which  would  not  now 
be  tfjierated,  but  by  their  labor  and  sacrifices  they  planted, 
beside  the  Church,  the  school  and  the  town-meeting,  and 
made  these  the  foundations  for  an  intelligent,  liberty-loving. 
God-fearing  people. 

We  care  not  so  much  now  for  the  distinctive  doctrines  of 
their  faith  as  for  the  fact  that  they  had  faith ;  not  so  much 
for  the  scruples  of  their  conscience  as  that  for  conscience  sake 
they  dared  to  suffer;  not  so  much  for  their  suffering  as  that 
in  spite  of  it  they  never  yielded.  That  was  the  stuff  out  of 
which  to  make  Commonwealths  that  were  to  last;  that  was 
the  warp  which,  wrought  into  the  fiber  of  our  national  life, 
has  made  it  strong  and  permanent.  With  all  their  short- 
comings there  was  dominant  in  the  founders  a  sense  of  duty 
and  responsibility,  a  serious  view  of  life  and  its  work,  which 
developed  strength  and  character,  self-reliant  men  and  free 
institutions,  making  the  basis  of  a  State,  education,  piety, 
and  self-government. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  Massachusetts,  and  this  spirit 
ever  since  has  marked  her  life.  What  do  we  owe  to  it  .?  1 
give  the  Yankee  answer,  What  do  we  not  owe  to  it  ?  Massa- 
chusetts from  it  gets  a  sturdiness  of  character,  an  independ- 
ence of  thought  and  action,  a  willingness  to  assert  and  fight 
for  honest  convictions,  which  have  been  her  very  backbone, 
and  through  her  a  potent  influence  in  our  national  develop- 
ment. 

You  can  trace  this  down  in  all  our  after  life,  in  the  early 
wars  for  self-defense,  in  the  later  wars  for  independence,  and 
against  the  tyranny  of  foreign  power,  and,  generations  later, 
in  our  war  for  union  and  liberty.  It  is  this  which  gives 
point  and  meaning  to  our  great  historic  monuments.  They 
exist  because  of  the  continuity  of  tliis  influence. 

"  When  the  tall  gray  shaft  of  Ikinkcr  Mill  speaks  greetings 


234  J.-IMf-S   irniTCO.MK   KII.F.Y 

to  Memorial  Hall,"*  it  is  tin.'  Puritan  o(  1775  sj)caking  to  the 
Puritan  of  1S61,  ami  both  recalling  the  patriotism  and  char- 
acter, the  struggle  ami  the  sacrifices  <>(  tlio  ])ast,  nerving  us 
as  bravely  to  do  our  duty.  How  wtll  rhillij)s  illustrateil  this 
in  his  plea  for  the  prc-si-rvation  <  •(  tlu-  ( )ld  South  mei'ting- 
housc,  so  dear  to  tlie  New  England  luart.  He  was  answ<-r- 
ing  the  argument  tliat  the  Old  South  was  not  worth  saving 
because  it  hail  changed  in  fdrm  and  ilid  not  meet  approved 
architectural  standards,  and  he  was  asserting  that  il  had  a 
deeper  meaning  and  a  truer  puri)ose  than  these  outwanl 
things.  "  True,"  he  .said,  "  it  has  changeil ;  it  is  not  sightly 
to  the  eye;  but  when  the  troops  went  fi.rth  in  ' (n  to  light 
for  their  country  and  liberty,  as  they  passed  the  old  IniiUling 
there  was  something  within  its  homely  walls  which  spoke  t<j 
them.  Reverently  they  lifted  their  caps,  broke  forth  in 
cheers,  and  passed  on,  braver,  truer  men.   " 

It  was  the  character  and  soul  of  the  Commonwealth  which 
spoke,  reminding  them  of  her  glorious  past.  I'heir  cheers 
answered  that  her  honor  was  safe  in  their  keeping. 

Through  the  lives  of  counltess  noble  men  and  women, 
who  have  been  steadfast  to  the  virtues  which  to-day  we  com- 
memorate, IMassachusetts  has  spoken  to  the  world.  Who 
doubts  that  the  world  is  better  for  her  work  and  her  message  ? 


THE   TRAVELER'S    STORY 

By  James  Whitcomb  Rilev,  Poet,   Story -writer.     Born  at  Greenfield, 
Indiana,  1853. 

Taken  from  "A  Child- World,"  by  James  Whitcomb  Riley,  copyright  1896.    Used  by 
permission  of  the  publishers,  The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis,  Ind.,  U.S.A. 

Eastward  of  Zanesville,  two  or  three 

Miles  from  the  town,  as  our  stage  drove  in, 

I  on  the  driver's  seat,  and  he 

Pointing  out  this  and  that  to  me, — 

On  beyond  us — among  the  rest — 

A  grovey  slope,  and  a  fluttering  throng 


THE    TRAyELER'S   STORY  235 

Of  little  children,  which  he  "  guessed  " 

Was  a  picnic,  as  we  caught  their  thin 

High  laughter,  as  we  drove  along, 

Clearer  and  clearer.      Then  suddenly 

He  turned  and  asked,  with  a  curious  grin, 

What  were  my  views  on  Slavery/'     "  Why?" 

I  asked,  in  return,  wath  a  wary  eye. 

"  Because,"  he  answered,  pointing  his  whip 

At  a  little  whitewashed  house  and  shed 

On  the  edge  of  the  road  by  the  grove  ahead, — 

"  Because  there  are  two  slaves  /here,"  he  said — 

"  Two  black  slaves  that  I've  passed  each  trip 

For  eighteen  years.     Though  they've  been  set  free, 

They  have  been  slaves  ever  since!  "  said  he. 

And,  as  our  horses  slowly  drew 

Nearer  the  little  house  in  view, 

All  briefly  I  heard  the  history 

Of  this  little  old  negro  woman  and 

Her  husband,  house  and  scrap  of  land; 

How^  they  were  slaves  and  had  been  made  free 

By  their  dying  master,  years  ago 

In  old  Virginia;   and  then  had  come 

North  here  into  ^/ree  State — so, 

Safe  forever,  to  found  a  home — 

For  themselves  alone  .? — for  they  left  South  there 

Five  strong  sons,  who  had,  alas! 

All  been  sold  ere  it  came  to  pass 

This  first  old  master  with  his  last  breath 

Had  freed  the  parents.    .    .    . 

Thus,  with  their  freedom,  and  little  sum 

Of  money  left  them,  these  two  had  come 

North,  full  twenty  long  years  ago; 

And,  settling  there,  they  had  hopefully 

Gone  to  work,  in  their  simple  way. 

Hauling — gardening — raising  sweet 

Corn,  and  popcorn.      Bird  and  bee 


^3^  J-fMf'S    HHlfcOMli   KIl.F.Y 

In  the  gar(.k-ii-bl»n)ins  and  the  apjjlc-trcc 
Singing  with  tlicm  thrDugljout  the  slow 
Summer's  day,  with  its  dust  and  heat — 
The  croj^s  that  tliirst  and  the  rains  that  fail ; 
Or  in  autumn  chill,  when  the  clouds  hung  low, 
And  hand-uKule  hominy  might  tiiul  sale 
In  the  near  town-market;   or  baking  j)ies 
And  cakes,  to  range  in  alluring  show 
At  the  little  window,  where  the  eyes 
Of  the  Movers'  children,  driving  past, 
Grew  fixed,  till  the  big  white  wagons  drew 
Into  a  halt  that  would  sometimes  last 
Even  the  space  of  an  hour  or  two.    .    .    . 
Even  so  had  they  wrought  all  ways 
To  earn  the  pennies,  and  hoard  them,  too, — 
And  with  what  ultimate  end  in  view  ? — 
They  were  saving  up  money  enough  to  be 
Able,  in  time,  to  buy  their  own 
Five  children  back. 

Ah !  the  toil  gone  through ! 
And  the  long  delays  and  the  heartaches,  too, 
And  self-denials  that  they  had  known! 
But  the  ])ride  and  glory  that  was  theirs 
When  they  first  hitched  up  their  shackly  cart 
For  the  long,  long  journey  South. — The  start 
In  the  first  drear  light  of  the  chilly  ilawn, 
With  no  friends  gathered  in  grieving  throng, — 
With  no  farewells  and  favoring  prayers; 
But,  as  they  creaked  and  jolted  on, 
Their  chiming  voices  broke  in  song — 

"  '  Hail,  all  hail  !   don't  you  see  the  stars  a-fallin'? 
Hail,  all  hail  !     I'm  on  my  way. 

Gideon  am 

A  healin'  ba'm — 
I  belong  to  the  blood-washed  army. 

Gideon  am 

A  healin'  ba'm — 

On  my  way  !  '  " 


THE    TRAyBLER'S   STORY  237 

And  their  relurn! — with  their  oldest  bey 
Uong  with  them !      Why,  their  happiness 
Spread  abroad  till  it  grew  a  joy 
Universal — It  even  reached 

And  thrilled  the  town  till  the  Church  was  stirred 
Into  suspecting  that  wrong  was  wrong! — 
And  it  stayed  awake  as  the  preacher  preached 
A  Real  "  Love  '"-text  that  he  had  not  long 
To  ransack  for  in  the  Holy  Word. 

And  the  son,  restored,  and  w^elcomed  so, 
Found  service  readily  in  the  town ; 
And,  with  the  parents,  sure  and  slow, 
He  went  "  sal  tin'  de  cole  cash  down." 

So  with  the  next  boy — and  each  one 

In  turn,  \\\\  four  of  the  five  at  last 

Had  been  brought  back ;  and,  in  each  case, 

W^ith  steady  work  and  good  homes  not 

Far  from  the  parents,  they  chipped  in 

To  the  family  fund,  with  an  equal  grace. 

Thus  they  managed  and  planned  and  wrought, 

And  the  old  folks  throve — Till  the  night  before 

They  were  to  start  for  the  lone  last  son 

In  the  rainy  dawn— their  money  fast 

Hid  away  in  the  house, — two  mean, 

Murderous  robbers  burst  the  door. 

.   .    .   Then,  in  the  dark,  was  a  scuffle — a  fall — 

An  old  man's  gasping  cry — and  then 

A  woman's  fife-like  shriek. 

.   .   .   Three  men 
Splashing  by  on  horseback  heard 
The  summons:  and  in  an  instant  all 
Sprung  to  their  duty,  with  scarce  a  word. 
And  they  were  in  time — not  only  to  save 
The  lives  of  the  old  folks,  but  to  bag 


ajS  Li.\trs  u mrcoMn  ru.f.y 

lU>th  the  robbers,  ;\iul  biKk-;iiul-i;a,L;; 
And  liiiul  them  safe  in  the  cminty  jail — 
Or,  as  Aunty  saiil,  with  a  bkiulcd  awe 
And  subtlety, — "  Safe  in  de  calaboose  whah 
Do  dawps  caint  bite  'em!  " 

— So  prevail 
The  faithful! — So  liad  the  Loril  upheld 
His  servants  of  both  deed  and  prayer, — 
His  the  glory  unparalleled — 
Theirs  the  reward, — their  every  son 
Free,  at  last,  as  the  parents  were! 
And,  as  the  tlriver  ended  there 
In  front  of  tlie  little  liouse,  I  said. 
All  fervently,  "  Well  done!   well  done!  " 
At  which  he  smiled,  and  turned  his  head 
And  pulled  on  the  leaders'  lines  and — "  See!  ''' 
He  said,  "  you  can  read  old  Aunty's  sign." 

And,  though  1  read  aloud,  I  could 

Scarce  hear  myself  for  laugh  and  shout 

Of  children — a  glad  multitude 

Of  little  people,  swarming  out 

Of  the  picnic-grounds  I  spoke  about. — 

And  in  their  rapturous  midst  I  see 

Again — through  mists  of  memory — 

A  black  old  negress  laughing  up 

At  the  driver,  with  her  broad  lips  rolled 

Back  from  her  teeth,  chalk-white,  and  gums 

Redder  than  reddest  red-ripe  plums. 

He  took  from  her  hand  the  lifted  cup 

Of  clear  spring-water,  pure  and  cold. 

And  passed  it  to  me:  And  I  raised  my  hat 

And  drank  to  her  with  a  reverence  that 

My  conscience  knew  was  justly  due 

The  old  black  face,  and  the  old  eyes,  too^ 

The  old  black  head,  with  its  mossy  mat 


THE    TRUE  POIVER   OF  A   NATION 

Of  hair,  set  under  its  cap  and  frills 

White  as  the  snows  on  Alpine  hills; 

Drank  to  the  old  black  smile,  but  yet 

Bright  as  the  sun  on  the  violet, — 

Drank  to  the  gnarled  and  knuckled  old 

Black  hands  whose  palms  had  ached  and  bled 

And  pitilessly  been  worn  pale 

And  white  almost  as  the  palms  that  hold 

Slavery's  lash  while  the  victim's  wail 

Fails  as  a  crippled  prayer  might  fail. — 

Ay,  with  a  reverence  infinite, 

I  drank  to  the  old  black  face  and  head — 

The  old  black  breast  with  its  life  of  light — 

The  old  black  hide  with  its  heart  of  gold. 


THE  TRUE  POWER  OF  A  NATION 

By  Edwin  Hubbell  Chapin,  Preacher.   Lecturer,   Essayist.     Born  at 
Union  Village,  N.  V.,  1814;  died  in  New  York  City,  1880. 

Selected,  by  permission  of  the  publishers,  from  Chapin's  "  Living  Words,"  published 
in  1869,  by  the  Universalist  Publishing  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 

Christianity  is  the  true  conserving  and  developing  power 
of  a  nation.  All  time  demonstrates  this  truth.  What  is  the 
source  of  progress  and  safety  to  a  people  .'  Let  "  the  vocal 
earth,"  let  the  graves  of  buried  nations,  answer.  One  after 
another  they  have  arisen, — they  have  built  their  towers  of 
strength,  and  fortified  their  lofty  walls, — the}^  have  opened 
their  sources  of  wealth,  and  hardened  their  sinews  of  power; 
and  for  what  object .?  For  perpetuity  and  success.  Go 
linger  around  the  desolate  spot  where  stood  Chaldea, — go 
question  the  fallen  columns  of  Tadmor, — go  seek  the  mystic 
pyramids  of  Egypt, — go  ask  the  Acropolis  or  the  Capitol; — 
go  speak  to  one  or  all  of  these,  and  they  will  tell  you  that 
the  hearts  which  have  withered  to  ashes  beneath  their  ruins, 
that  the  minds  which  were  their  pride  and  their  glory,  that 
the  hands  which  strengthened  their  power,  were  all   moved 


3  4°  /7>/r/.v  Hiimrii  chmpis' 

by  tlu-  great  iilra  of  .adilinc:  to  their  j)rospcrity  and  greatness, 
and  perpetuating  their  station  in  the  earth.  Surely,  then, 
here  in  this  pillared  jiast  we  may  ascertain  the  source  of  a 
nation's  prosperity  and  conservation;  at  least  we  may  ascer- 
tain what  it  is  riot. 

Is  it  'rcalihp  Where  is  Lydia  ?  Its  inhabitants  "pos- 
sessed a  fertile  territory  and  a  prt)fusion  i>f  silver."  IJut  its 
vast  treasures  were  no  walls  tit  defen.se;  the  riches  of  (lyges 
and  Crccsus  were  not  its  safeguanls.  It  was  swej)t  by  the 
sword  of  Cyrus,  trampled  umler  f(H>t  by  the  victorious  hordes 
of  Persia. 

Has  inteUeciual  e.\cellence  alone  secured  perpetuity  and 
progress  to  empire .'  Where  is  Greece .''  Its  very  .soil  is 
animate  with  mind,  and  its  every  pillar,  like  ancient 
Memnon,  breatiies  music  to  the  sun.  Its  moldering  altars 
are  garlanded  with  poetry,  and  eloquence  and  philosophy 
kindle  amid  its  desolations.  The  home  of  Socrates  and 
Plalo,  Demosthenes  and  yEschylus,  Pericles  and  Homer, — 
what  is  it  .'  Did  its  intellectual  greatness,  its  glorious  poetry, 
its  lofty  philosophy,  its  burning  eloquence,  its  glowing  can- 
vas, its  lifelike  marble  save  it  from  the  dust  .'  Did  Spartan 
heroism  gather  around  it  in  tlie  liour  of  \>q.x\\  ?  Did  Attic 
genius  flash  up  from  its  altars,  like  guardian  llame  .^  It  went 
down  at  last;  the  wave  of  desolation  rolls  over  it. 

Can  power  insure  prosperity  and  safety  to  a  nation  .•" 
Where  is  ancient  Rome  .'  Where  is  the  crowned  and  imperial 
city  that  .sat  upon  her  seven  hills,  and  sent  her  armies 
through  the  earth  .'  Her  "  eagle  flag  unrolled,  and  froze  '' 
by  the  icy  streams  of  the  north ;  the  bones  of  her  legions 
covered  the  burning  sands  like  drifting  snow;  her  triumphant 
.shouts  pealed  up  from  the  hills  of  Gaul  and  the  chalky  cliffs 
of  Britain,  and  were  answered  by  her  hosts  from  far  Jerusalem 
and  Damascus.  Over  the  face  of  the  known  world,  you 
entered  no  walled  city  where  stood  not  a  Roman  sentinel, 
you  passed  no  crowd  in  which  was  not  heard  tlie  Latin 
tongue.      Where  is  the  proud  citv  of  the  Capitol  .''     Where 


RF.yERENCn  FOR    THE  FLAG  241 

arc  the  mailed  hand  and  the  kingly  brow  ?  Did  lier  power 
start  forth  from  the  tomb  of  Julius,  did  her  ancient  renown 
appear  in  the  person  of  Augustus,  when  the  eager  hordes  of 
Goth  and  Hun  rushed  upon  her  palaces,  quenched  the  light 
on  her  altars,  shattered  her  glorious  marbles,  and  trampled 
with  barbaric  exultation  on  her  purple  pride?  Her  very 
tomb  is  crumbling  beneath  the  breath  of  time. 

I  know  that  these  references  are  trite;  yet  would  I  urge 
you  to  seize  upon  the  deep  burden  of  their  meaning,  to  feel 
their  cogency.  They  demonstrate  that  wealth,  knowledge, 
power,  without  a  controlling  influence, — without  a  right 
motive  for  their  direction, — arc  not  the  sources  of  conserva- 
tion and  true  progress. 


REVERENCE    FOR   THE   FLAG 

By    Horace   Porter,     Brigadier-General,    Lecturer,    Author;    United 
States  Ambassador  to  France,  1897 — .      Born   in  Huntington,  Penn., 
1837- 
From  a  speech  at  a  banquet  of  the  New  England  Society  in   New  York,  December 

22,  1891.     See  New  York  Tribune,  Dec.  23,  1891. 

In  preserving  among  the  sons  that  spirit  of  patriotism 
which  has  been  handed  down  from'  the  sires,  I  know  of  no 
better  method  of  inculcating  this  sentiment  in  the  minds  of 
the  youth  of  the  rising  generation  than  an  effort  to  inspire 
them  with  a  still  more  exalted  respect  and  reverence  for  the 
Hag — that  symbol  of  national  supremacy,  that  emblem  of  the 
country's  glory.  They  should  be  taught  that  that  flag  is  not 
simply  a  banner  for  holiday  display;  that  it  is  not  merely  a 
piece  of  bunting  which  can  be  purchased  for  a  few  shillings 
in  the  nearest  shop,  but  that  it  is  the  proud  emblem  of  dig- 
nity, authority,  power;  that  if  insulted,  millions  will  spring 
to  its  defense.  They  should  be  taught  that  as  that  flag  is 
composed  of  and  derives  its  chief  beauty  from  its  different 
colors,  so  should  its  ample  folds  cover  and  protect  its  citi- 
zens of  different  color. 


24-»  noR.tcr  roRTFR 

It  is  (or  those  reasons  that  I  like  to  sci-  tlic  flags  of  the 
war  (or  the  integrity  o(  the  I'liion  carried  througli  the  streets 
in  the  hands  of  our  veterans  upon yj/c  days.  Those  ])recious 
war-banners,  bullet-riddled,  batlle-stained,  many  of  tluni 
but  remnants  of  their  former  selves,  witli  scarcely  enough 
left  of  them  on  which  to  imprint  the  names  of  the  battles 
they  had  seen.  Every  tattered  shred  which  flutters  in  the 
breeze  is  an  object  lesson  in  i)atriotism.  The  youth  of  the 
land  should  be  made  to  feil  ih.it  tluir  country's  flag  is  to  be 
their  pillar  of  cloud  by  day,  their  pillar  of  Are  by  night;  that 
it  is  to  wave  above  them  in  victory,  be  their  rallying-])oint 
in  defeat,  and  if,  perchance,  they  offer  uj)  their  lives  a  sacri- 
fice in  its  defense,  its  crimson  stripes  will  mingle  with  their 
generous  heart's  blood;  its  gentle  folds  will  rest  upon  their 
bosom  in  death;  its  very  presence  there  upon  their  bodies, 
coffined  or  uncof!ined,  will  write  a  more  enduring  epitaph 
than  that  on  the  sarcophagus  in  wiiich  the  great  Sesostris 
sleeps. 

That  flag  should  be  kept  everywhere  in  view.  It  is  par- 
ticularly necessary  in  a  land  like  this,  in  which  there  are  so 
many  who  have  been  reared  under  foreign  flags,  and  who 
cannot  be  made  too  familiar  with  the  flag  of  the  great 
Republic.  I  think  there  would  be  nothing  more  grateful  to 
the  hearts  of  the  American  people  than  to  have  it  ordained 
by  national  and  State  enactment  that  the  flag  of  the  country 
should  be  hoisted  over  every  Government  building,  every 
public  place,  every  prominent  memorial,  and  especially  over 
every  schoolhouse — kept  there  by  day  and  by  night,  through 
calm  and  through  storm,  and  never  hauled  down.  At  the 
beginning  of  our  last  war  a  rallying  cry  rang  throughout  the 
land,  which  quickened  every  pulse,  which  made  the  blood 
tingle  in  the  veins  of  every  loyal  citizen — a  rallying  cry  which 
we  cannot  too  often  repeat:  "  If  any  man  hauls  down  the 
American  flag,  shoot  him  on  the  spot," 


THE  RELIEF  OF  LUCKNOIV  243 


THE    RELIEF   OF    LUCKNOW 

By  Robert  Trail  Spence  Lowell.  Clergyman,  Author,  Poet.     Born 
in  Boston,  Mass.,  1816;  died  1891. 

Oh!   that  last  day  in  Lucknow  fort; 

We  knew  that  it  was  the  last, 
That  the  enemy's  mines  had  crept  surely  in, 

And  the  end  was  coming  fast. 


To  yield  to  that  foe  meant  worse  than  death, 

And  the  men  and  we  all  worked  on; 
It  was  one  day  more  of  smoke  and  roar, 

And  then  it  would  all  be  done. 

There  was  one  of  us,  a  corporal's  wife, 

A  fair  young  gentle  thing. 
Wasted  with  fever  in  the  siege. 

And  her  mind  was  wandering. 

She  lay  on  the  ground,  in  her  Scottish  plaid, 

And  I  took  her  head  on  my  knee; 
"  When  my  father  comes  hame  frae  the  pleugh, "  she  said, 

"  Oh!  please  then  waken  me." 

She  slept  like  a  child  on  her  father's  floor, 

In  the  flecking  of  woodbine  shade, 
When  the  house-dog  sprawls  by  the  half-open  door. 

And  the  mother's  wheel  is  stayed. 

It  was  smoke  and  roar  and  powder-stench. 

And  hopeless  waiting  for  death; 
But  the  soldier's  wife,  like  a  full-tired  child. 

Seemed  scarce  to  draw  her  breath. 


J44  ROPl-RT    TR.-Ul.   SPFh-Cr   l.OUTLL 

I  sank  t»>  slrip  ;iml  I  IkiiI  inv  divam 

Of  an  l'.iij,'lisli  village  hini- 
Ami  wall  ami  garilcn — till  a  sudclcn  scream 

l?rouglit  me  back  to  the  roar  again. 

Tlure  Jessie  J>ro\vn  stood  listening, 
And  tlu-n  a  broai'  gladness  broke 

All  over  her  face,  and  she  took  my  hand, 
<\nd  drew  me  near  and  spoke : 

T/ic  Highlanders  I     Oh,  dinna  ye  hear 
The  slogan  far  awa'  ? 
The  'McGregor's?     Alil    1  ken  it  weel ; 
It's  the  grandest  of  them  a". 

"  God  bless  thae  bonny  Highlanders; 

We're  saved!  we're  saved!  "  she  cried; 
And  fell  on  her  knees,  and  thanks  to  God 

Poured  forth  like  a  full  flood  tide. 

Along  the  battery  line  her  cry 

Had  fallen  among  the  men; 
And  they  started;  for  they  were  there  to  die — 

Was  life  so  near  them  then  ? 

They  listened,  for  life;  and  the  rattling  fire 

Far  off,  and  the  far-off  roar 
Were  all, — and  the  colonel  shook  his  head, 

And  they  turned  to  their  guns  once  more. 

Then  Jessie  said,    "  That  slogan's  dune, 
But  can  ye  no  hear  them,  noo  ? 

The  Campbells  are  comin'  !     It's  nac  a  dream, 
Our  succors  hae  broken  through!  " 


THE  RELIEF    OE  LL'CKNOIV  245 

We  heard  the  roar  and  the  rattle  afar, 

But  the  pipes  we  could  not  hear; 
So  the  men  plied  their  work  of  hopeless  war, 

And  knew  that  the  end  was  near. 

It  was  not  long  ere  it  must  be  heard, 

A  shrilling,  ceaseless  sound; 
It  was  no  noise  of  the  strife  afar, 

Or  the  sappers  under  ground. 

It  was  the  pipes  of  the  Highlanders, 

And  now  they  played  "  Auld  Lang  Syne  "; 

It  came  to  our  men  like  the  voice  of  God; 
And  they  shouted  along  the  line. 

And  they  wept  and  shook  one  other's  hands. 

And  the  women  sobbed  in  a  crowd; 
And  every  one  knelt  down  where  we  stood, 

And  we  all  thanked  God  aloud. 

That  happy  day,  when  we  welcomed  them  in. 

Our  men  put  Jessie  first ; 
And  the  General  took  her  hand ;  and  cheers 

From  the  men  like  a  volley  burst. 

And  the  pipers'  ribbons  and  tartan  streamed. 

Marching  round  and  round  our  line; 
And  our  joyful  cheers  were  broken  with  tears. 

As  the  pipes  played  "  Auld  Lang  Syne." 


2^6  Hrs'Kr  c.iHOT  loiHu: 


THE    BLUE    AND   THE    GRAY 

By  Henry  Cabot  Lodck,  Lawyer,  I'.ililor,  Author;  Menil>er  of  Con- 
^^rcs-i  fn>m  Massachusetts,  1886  03;  Senator,  1803 — .  Horn  in 
BostiMi,  Mass.,  1S50. 

Taken,  by  peniiissiim  of  tlie  niithur,  from  a  spcctli  made  at  the  Jiniier  to  Robert  K. 
Lee  Camp  of  Confederate  Veterans,  in  IJoston,  June  17,  1887.  See  "Speeches  of 
Henry  Caljot  Lodge,"  copyriglit,  1801,  by  H.  C  Lodge,  published  by  Houghton, 
Mifflin  S:  Co.,  Hoston. 

1  do  not  Stand  up  in  this  presence  to  indulge  in  any  mock 
sentimentality.  You  brave  men  who  wore  the  gray  would 
be  the  first  to  hold  me  or  any  other  son  of  the  North  in  just 
contempt  if  I  should  say  that,  now  it  was  all  over,  I  thought 
the  North  was  wrong  and  the  result  of  the  war  a  mistake, 
and  that  I  was  prepared  to  suppress  my  political  opinions. 
I  believe  most  profoundly  that  the  war  on  our  side  was 
eternally  right,  that  our  victory  was  the  salvation  of  the 
country,  and  that  the  results  of  the  war  were  of  infinite 
benefit  to  both  North  and  South.  But,  however  we  differed, 
or  still  differ,  as  to  the  causes  for  which  we  fought  then,  we 
accept  them  as  settled,  commit  them  to  history,  and  fight 
over  them  no  more.  To  the  men  who  fought  the  battles  of 
the  Confederacy  we  hold  out  our  hands  freely,  frankly,  and 
gladly.  To  courage  and  faith  wherever  shown  we  bow  in 
liomage  with  uncovered  heads.  We  respect  and  honor  the 
gallantr}'  and  valor  of  the  brave  men  who  fought  against  us, 
and  who  gave  their  lives  and  shed  their  blood  in  defense  of 
what  they  believed  to  be  right.  We  rejoice  that  the  famous 
general  whose  name  is  borne  upon  your  banner  was  one  of 
the  greatest  soldiers  of  modern  times,  because  he,  too,  was 
an  American.  We  have  no  bitter  memories  to  revive,  no 
reproaches  to  utter.  Reconciliation  is  not  to  be  sought, 
because  it  exists  already.  Differ  in  politics  and  in  a 
thousand  other  ways  we  must  and  shall  in  all  good-nature, 
but  let  us  never  differ  with  each  other  on  sectional  or  State 
lines,  by  race  or  creed. 


THE   BLUE   AND    THE    GRAY  247 

We  welcome  you,  soldiers  of  Virginia,  as  others  more 
eloquent  than  I  have  said,  to  New  England.  We  welcome 
you  to  old  ]\rassachusetts.  We  welcome  you  to  Boston  and 
to  Faneuil  Hall.  In  your  presence  here,  and  at  the  sound 
of  your  voices  beneath  this  historic  roof,  the  years  roll  back 
and  we  see  the  figure  and  hear  again  the  ringing  tones  of 
your  great  orator,  Patrick  Henry,  declaring  to  the  first  Con- 
tinental Congress,  "The  distinctions  between  Virginians, 
Pennsylvanians,  New  Vorkers,  and  New  Englanders  are  no 
more.  I  am  not  a  Virginian,  but  an  American."  A  dis- 
tinguished Frenchman,  as  he  stood  among  the  graves  at 
Arlington,  said:  "  Only  a  great  people  is  capable  of  a  gjeat 
civil  war."  Let  us  add  with  thankful  hearts  that  only  a 
great  people  is  capable  of  a  great  reconciliation.  Side  by 
side,  Virginia  and  ^Massachusetts  led  the  colonies  into  the 
War  for  Independence.  Side  by  side  they  founded  the 
government  of  the  United  States.  Morgan  and  Greene,  Lee 
and  Knox,  Moultrie  and  Prescott,  men  of  the  South  and 
men  of  the  North,  fought  shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  wore  the 
same  uniform  of  buff  and  blue, — the  uniform  of  Washington. 

Your  presence  here  brings  back  their  noble  memories,  it 
breathes  the  spirit  of  concord,  and  unites  with  so  many  other 
voices  in  the  irrevocable  message  of  union  and  good  will. 
I\Iere  sentiment  all  this,  some  may  say.  But  it  is  sentiment, 
true  sentiment,  that  has  moved  the  world.  Sentiment  fought 
the  war,  and  sentiment  has  reunited  us.  When  the  war 
closed,  it  was  proposed  in  the  newspapers  and  elsewhere  to 
give  Governor  Andrew,  who  had  sacrificed  health  and 
strength  and  property  in  his  public  duties,  some  immediately 
lucrative  office,  like  the  ccllectorship  of  the  port  of  Boston. 
A  friend  asked  him  if  he  would  take  such  a  place.  "  No," 
said  he;  "I  have  stood  as  high  priest  between  the  horns  of 
the  altar,  and  I  have  poured  out  upon  it  the  best  blood  of 
Massachusetts,  and  I  cannot  take  money  for  that."  Mere 
sentiment  truly,  but  the  sentiment  which  ennobles  and 
uplifts  mankind.     It  is  sentiment  which  so  hallows  a  bit  r:f 


-A^  HENRY    lyOODH-N   CR.-IDY 

torn,  staiiuil  l>untini;,  th.u  men  go  ghully  tn  tli'.ir  deaths  to 
save  it.  So  I  say  that  the  sentiment  nianifestetl  by  your 
presence  licrc,  brethren  of  \'irginia,  sitting  siile  by  side  with 
those  \\\\o  wore  the  blue,  has  a  far-reacliing  and  gracious 
influence,  of  more  value  than  many  practical  things.  It  tells 
us  that  these  two  grand  oKl  Commonwealths,  parted  in  the 
shock  of  the  Civil  War,  are  once  more  side  by  side  as  in  tlie 
days  of  the  Revolution,  never  to  j)art  again.  It  tells  us  that 
the  sons  of  Virgmia  and  Massachusetts,  if  war  should  break 
again  upon  the  country,  will,  as  in  the  olden  days,  stand 
once  more  shoulder  to  shoulder,  with  no  distinction  in  the 
colors  that  they  wear.  It  is  fraught  w  ith  tidings  of  peace  on 
earth,  and  you  may  reatl  its  meaning  in  the  words  on  yonder 
picture,  "  Liberty  and  Union,  now  and  forever,  one  and  in- 
separable. 

THE   SOUTHERN    NEGRO 

By  He.nrv  Woodke.n'  Grauv,  Journalist,  Orator.      Born  at  Athens,  Ga., 
1851;   died  at  Atlanta,   1889. 

Taken  from  a  speech  at  the  banquet  of  the  Boston  Merchants'  Association,  December, 
i8Sg.  See  "  Henry  W.  Grady  :  His  Life,  Writings,  and  Speeches,"  published  in  181^0, 
\y  The  Cassell  Publishing  Lompany,  New  York,  X.  V. 

Far  to  the  South  lies  the  fairest  and  richest  domain  of 
this  earth.  There  by  night  the  cotton  whitens  beneath  the 
^tars,  and  by  day  the  wheat  locks  the  sunshine  in  its  bearded 
sheaf.  There  are  mountains  stored  with  exhaustless  treas- 
ures, forests,  vast  and  primeval,  and  rivers  that,  tumbling 
or  loitering,  run  wanton  to  the  sea.  But  why  is  it,  though 
the  sectional  line  be  now  but  a  mist  that  the  breath  may  dis- 
pel, fewer  men  of  the  North  have  crossed  it  over  to  the 
South,  than  when  it  was  crimson  with  the  best  blood  of  the 
Republic,  or  even  when  the  slave-holder  stood  guard  every 
inch  of  its  way  ?  There  can  be  but  one  answer.  It  is  the 
very  problem  we  are  now  to  consider.  My  people,  your 
brothers  in  the  South — brothers  in  blood,  in  destiny,  in  all 
that  is  best  in  our  past  and  future — are  so  beset  with  this 


THE  SOUTHERN   NEGRO  249 

problem  that  tlieir  very  existence  depends  upon  its  right 
solution. 

1  thank  God  as  heartily  as  you  do  that  human  slavery  is 
gone  forever  from  the  American  soil.  But  the  freedman 
remains.  With  him  a  problem  without  precedent  or  parallel. 
Note  its  appalling  conditions.  Two  utterly  dissimilar  races 
on  the  same  soil — with  equal  civil  and  political  rights — 
almost  equal  in  numbers,  but  terribly  unequal  in  intelligence 
and  responsibility — each  pledged  against  fusion — one  for  a 
century  in  servitude  to  the  other,  and  freed  at  last  by  a 
desolating  war — the  experiment  sought  by  neither,  but 
approached  by  both  with  doubt, — these  are  the  conditions. 

The  President  of  the  United  States,  discussing  the  plea 
that  the  South  should  be  left  to  solve  this  problem,  asks: 
"  Are  they  at  work  upon  it  .''  What  solution  do  they  offer  ? 
When  will  the  black  man  cast  a  free  ballot  ?  "  When  will 
the  black  cast  a  free  ballot  .''  \\'hen  ignorance  anywhere  is 
not  dominated  by  the  will  of  the  intelligent;  when  the 
laborer  anywhere  casts  a  vote  unhindered  by  his  boss, — then 
and  not  till  then  will  the  ballot  of  the  negro  be  free. 

INIeantime  we  treat  the  negro  fairly,  measuring  to  him 
justice  in  the  fullness  the  strong  should  give  to  the  weak, 
and  leading  him  in  the  steadfast  ways  of  citizenship,  that  he 
may  no  longer  be  the  prey  of  the  unscrupulous  and  the 
sport  of  the  thoughtless.  The  love  we  feel  for  that  race  you 
cannot  measure  nor  comprehend.  As  I  attest  it  here,  the 
spirit  of  my  old  black  mammy  from  her  home  up  there  looks 
down  to  bless,  and  through  the  tumult  of  this  night  steals 
the  sweet  music  of  her  crooning,  as  thirty  years  ago  she  held 
me  in  her  black  arms  and  led  me  smiling  into  sleep. 

This  scene  vanishes  as  I  speak,  and  I  catch  a  vision  of  an 
old  Southern  home,  with  its  lofty  pillars  and  its  white 
pigeons  fluttering  down  through  the  golden  air.  I  see 
women  with  strained  and  anxious  faces,  and  children  alert 
yet  helpless.  I  see  night  come  down  with  its  dangers  and 
its  apprehensions,  and   in  a  big  homely  room  I  feel  on   my 


-'50  HENK)     HOOI>fi;\'   liK.-IDy 

tired  hciid  the  touch  of  loving  hands — now  worn  and 
wrinkled,  but  fairer  to  me  yet  than  the  hands  of  mortal 
woman,  and  stronger  yet  to  lead  nie  than  the  hands  of 
mortal  man — as  they  lay  a  mother's  blessing  there,  while  at 
her  knees — the  truest  altar  1  yet  have  found — I  thank  God 
that  she  is  safe  in  her  sanctuary  because  her  slaves,  sentinel 
in  the  silent  cabin  or  guard  at  her  chamber  door,  j)Ut  a  black 
man's  loyalty  between  her  and  danger. 

1  catch  another  vision.  The  crisis  of  battle — a  soldier 
struck,  staggering,  fallen.  I  see  a  slave  scuffling  through 
the  smoke,  winding  his  black  arms  about  the  fallen  form, 
reckless  of  the  hurtling  death,  bending  his  trusty  face  to  catch 
the  words  that  tremble  on  the  stricken  lips,  so  wrestling 
meantime  with  agony  that  he  would  lay  down  his  life  in  his 
master's  stead.  I  see  him  by  the  weary  bedside,  ministering 
with  uncomplaining  patience,  praying  with  all  his  humble 
heart  that  God  will  lift  his  master  up,  until  death  comes  in 
mercy  and  in  honor  to  still  the  soldier's  agony  and  seal  the 
soldier's  life.  I  see  him  by  the  open  grave,  mute,  motion- 
less, uncovered,  suffering  for  the  death  of  him  who  in  life 
fought  against  his  freedom. 

I  see  him  when  the  mound  is  heaped  and  the  great  drama 
of  his  life  is  closed,  turn  away  and  with  downcast  eyes  and 
uncertain  step  start  out  into  new  and  strange  fields,  falter- 
ing, struggling,  but  moving  on,  until  his  shambling  figure  is 
lost  in  the  light  of  this  better  and  brighter  day.  And  from 
the  grave  comes  a  voice,  saying:  "  Follow  him!  Put  your 
arms  about  him  in  his  need,  even  as  he  once  put  his  about 
me.  Be  his  friend,  as  he  was  mine."  And  out  into  this 
new  world — strange  to  me  as  to  him,  dazzling,  bewildering 
both — I  follow.  And  may  God  forget  my  people  when 
they  forget  these! 


THE   CHARIOT  RACE  251 


THE    CHARIOT    RACE 


By  Lew  Wallace,  General,  Lawyer,  Diplomat,  Novelist;  United 
States  Minister  to  Turkey,  1881-85.  ^"i"'^  ^^  Brookville,  Ind.,  1827; 
resides  at  Crawfordsville,  Ind. 

Taken,  by  permission  of  the  publishers,  from  "Ben-Hur,"  by  Lew  Wallace.     Copy 
riglit,  1880,  1891,  1899,  by  Harper  &  Brothers,  New  York. 

The  preparations  were  now  complete.  Straightway  the 
stir,  of  the  people  and  the  hum  of  their  conversation  died 
away.  Every  face  near  by  and  every  face  in  the  lessening 
perspective  turned  to  the  east,  as  all  eyes  settled  upon  the 
gates  of  the  six  stalls  which  shut  in  the  competitors. 

The  trumpet  sounded  short  and  sharp.  Forth  from  each 
stall,  like  missiles  in  a  volley  from  so  many  great  guns, 
rushed  the  six  fours;  and  up  the  vast  assemblage  arose, 
electrified  and  irrepressible,  and,  leaping  upon  the  benches, 
filled  the  circus  and  the  air  above  it  with  yells  and  screams. 
The  arena  swam  in  a  dazzle  of  light;  yet  each  driver  looked 
first  for  the  rope,  then  for  the  coveted  inner  line.  So,  all 
six  aiming  at  the  same  point  and  speeding  furiously,  a  colli- 
sion seemed  inevitable.  Nothing  daunted,  the  Roman 
shook  out  his  long  lash,  loosed  the  reins,  leaned  forward, 
and,  with  a  triumphant  shout,  took  the  wall. 

"Jove  with  us!  Jove  with  us!"  yelled  all  the  Roman 
faction,  in  a  frenzy  of  delight.  The  race  was  on;  the  souls 
of  the  racers  were  in  it;   over  them  bent  the  myriads. 

For  a  moment  Ben  Hur  was  half-blinded  by  the  light  in 
the  arena;  yet  he  managed  to  catch  sight  of  his  antagonists 
and  divine  their  purpose.  At  Messala,  who  was  more  than 
an  antagonist  to  him,  he  gave  one  searching  look.  He  saw 
the  soul  of  the  man,  as  through  a  glass,  cruel,  cunning, 
desperate.  In  a  time  not  longer  than  was  required  to  turn 
to  his  four  again  Ben  Hur  felt  his  own  resolution  harden  to 
a  like  temper.  At  whatever  cost,  he  would  humble  this 
enemy!  Yet  there  was  no  passion,  no  blinding  rush  of 
heated  blood  from  heart  to  brain  and  back  again.      He  had 


252  I.niV  IV.-ll.L.-ICF. 

his  plan,  and  he  settled  to  the  t.i^k,  never  more  observant, 
never  more  capable. 

Ikii  II ur  yiiKKd  tlie  wall  for  tiie  time.  He  drew  head  to 
the  right,  and  with  all  the  speed  of  his  Arabs  darted  across 
the  trails  of  his  oj)p(>nents,  and  took  the  course  neck  and 
neck  with  Messala.  Autl  now,  racing  together  sitle  by  side, 
a  narrow  interval  between  them,  the  two  neareil  the  second 
goal.  "  Down,  Kros!  up,  Mars!  "  Messala  shouted,  whirl- 
ing his  lash  with  practiced  hand.  "  Down,  Eros!  up, 
^lars!  "  he  repeated,  and  caught  the  well-doing  Arabs  of 
Ben  Ilur  a  cut  the  like  of  which  they  had  never  known. 
Then,  involuntarily,  down  from  the  balcony,  as  thunder 
falls,  burst  the  indignant  cry  of  the  people.  The  four  sprang 
forward  as  with  one  impulse,  and  forward  leaped  the  car. 
Where  got  Ben  Hur  the  large  hand  and  mighty  grip  which 
helped  him  now  so  well  .''  Where  but  from  the  oar  with 
which  so  long  he  fought  the  sea  ?  And  what  was  this  spring 
of  the  floor  under  his  feet  to  the  dizzy,  eccentric  lurch  with 
which  in  the  old  time  the  trembling  ship  yielded  to  the  beat 
of  staggering  billows,  drunk  with  their  power  .? 

So  he  kept  his  place,  and  gave  the  four  free  rein;  and 
before  the  fever  of  the  people  began  to  abate  he  had  back  the 
mastery.  Nor  that  only ;  on  approaching  the  first  goal,  he  was 
again  side  by  side  with  ]MessaIa,  bearing  with  him  the  sym- 
pathy and  admiration  of  every  one  not  a  Roman.  ' '  Ben  Hur ! 
Ben  Hur!  "  they  shouted,  "  Speed  thee,  Jew!  "  "  Take  the 
wall  now!"  "On!  Loose  the  Arabs!  Give  them  rein  and 
scourge!  "  "  Let  him  not  have  the  turn  on  thee  !  "  Over 
the  balustrade  they  stooped  low,  stretching  their  hands  im- 
ploringly to  him. 

And  now,  to  make  the  turn,  Messala  began  to  draw  in  his 
left-hand  steeds.  His  spirit  was  high;  more  than  one  altar 
was  richer  of  his  vows;  the  Roman  genius  was  still  president. 
On  the  three  pillars  only  six  hundred  feet  away  were  fame, 
increase  of  fortune,  promotions,  and  a  triumph  ineffably 
sweetened  by  hate,  all  in  store  for  him!     That  moment  Ben 


THE  CHARIOT  RACE  253 

Hur  leaned  forward  over  his  Arabs,  and  gave  them  the  reins. 
Out  flew  the  many-folded  lash  in  his  hand;  over  the  backs 
of  the  startled  steeds  it  writhed  and  hissed,  and  hissed  and 
writhed  again  and  again;  and,  though  it  fell  not,  there  were 
both  sting  and  menace  in  its  quick  report;  and  as  the  man 
passed  thus  from  quiet  to  resistless  action,  his  face  suffused, 
his  eyes  gleaming,  along  the  reins  he  seemed  to  flash  his 
will;  and  instantly  not  one,  but  the  four  as  one  answered 
with  a  leap  that  landed  them  alongside  the  Roman's  car. 
Messala,  on  the  perilous  edge  of  the  goal,  heard,  but  dared 
not  look  to  see  what  the  awakening  portended.  From  the 
people  he  received  no  sign.  Above  the  noises  of  the  race 
there  was  but  one  voice,  and  that  was  Ben  Hur's.  In  the 
old  Aramaic,  as  the  sheik  himself,  he  called  to  the  Arabs. 

"On,  Atair!  On,  Rigel!  What,  Antares!  dost  thou  linger 
now  ?  Good  horse — oho,  Aldebaran  !  I  hear  them  singing 
in  the  tents.  I  hear  the  children  singing  and  the  women — 
singing  of  the  stars,  of  Atair,  Antares,  Rigel,  Aldebaran, 
victory!  And  the  song  will  never  end.  Well  done!  Home 
to-morrow,  under  the  black  tent — home!  On,  Antares! 
The  tribe  is  waiting  for  us,  and  the  master  is  waiting!  'Tis 
done!  'tis  done!  Ha,  ha!  We  have  overthrown  the  proud. 
The  hand  that  smote  us  is  in  the  dust.  Ours  the  glory! 
Ha,  ha!      Steady!     The  work  is  done — soho!      Rest!" 

The  thousands  on  the  benches  understood  it  all.  They 
saw  the  signal  given,  the  magnificent  response;  the  four  close 
outside  Messala's  outer  wheel,  Ben  Hur's  inner  wheel  behind 
the  other's  car — all  this  they  saw.  Then  they  heard  a  crash 
loud  enough  to  send  a  thrill  through  the  Circus,  and, 
quicker  than  thought,  out  over  the  course  a  spray  of  shining 
white  and  yellow  flinders  flew.  Down  on  its  right  side 
toppled  the  bed  of  the  Roman  chariot.  There  was  a  rebound 
as  of  the  axle  hitting  the  hard  earth;  another  and  another; 
then  the  car  went  to  pieces,  and  jNIessala,  entangled  in  the 
reins,  pitched  forward  headlong. 

The  people    arose,   and   leaped    upon   the    benches,   and 


254  HFNRY   C,R.4TT.^M 

shouted  and  screamed.  Those  who  looked  that  way  caught 
glimpses  (.)f  Messala.  now  under  the  tramjiling  of  the  fours, 
now  under  the  abandoned  cars,  lie  was  .still;  they  thought 
him  ileail ;  but  far  the  greater  number  followed  Ben  Ilur  in 
his  career.  They  had  nut  seen  the  cunning  touch  of  the 
reins  by  which,  turning  a  little  to  tlie  left,  he  caught  Mes- 
sala's  wheel  with  the  iron-shod  jioint  of  his  a.\le,  and  crusheil 
it;  but  they  had  seen  the  transformation  of  the  man,  and 
themselves  felt  the  heat  and  glow  of  his  spirit,  the  heroic 
resolution,  the  maddening  energy  of  action  with  which,  by 
look,  word,  and  gesture,  he  so  suddenly  inspired  his  Arabs. 
And  such  running!  It  was  rather  the  long  leaping  of  lions 
in  harness;  but  for  the  lumbering  chariot,  it  seemed  the  four 
were  flying.  When  the  Byzantine  and  Corinthian  were  half- 
way down  the  course  Ben  Ilur  turned  the  first  goal.  And 
the  race  was  won  ! 


REPLY   TO   MR.    CORRY 

By  Henry  Grattan,   I>awyer,   Statesman.      IJorn  in  Dublin,  Irelanii, 
1746;  died  in  London,  England,  1820. 

From  a  speech  delivered  in  the  Irish  Pariiament,  during  the  debate  on  the  union  of 
Ireland  to  England,  Februarj-  14,  i?oo.  See  Goodrich's  "British  Eloquence,"  pub- 
lished, in  1854,  by  Harper  and  Brothers,  Xew  York,  X.  Y. 

Has  the  gentleman  done  .'  has  he  completely  done  }  He 
was  unparliamentary  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his 
speech.  There  was  scarce  a  word  he  uttered  that  was  not  a 
violation  of  the  privileges  of  the  House.  But  I  did  not  call 
him  to  order — why  .-'  because  the  limited  talents  of  some  men 
render  it  impossible  for  them  to  be  severe  without  being  un- 
parliamentary. But  before  I  sit  down,  I  shall  show  him 
how  to  be  severe  and  parliamentary  at  the  same  time. 
—  On  any  other  occasion,  I  should  think  myself  justifiable 
in  treating  with  silent  contempt  anything  which  might  fall 
from  that  honorable  member;  but  there  are  times  when  the 
insignificance  of  the  accuser  is  lost  in  the  magnitude  of  the 


REPLY    TO   MR.   CORRY  255 

accusation.  I  kncjw  tlic  difficulty  the  honorable  gentleman 
labored  under  when  he  attacked  me,  conscious  that,  on  a 
comparative  view  of  our  characters,  public  and  private,  there 
is  nothing  he  could  say  which  would  injure  me.N  The  public 
would  not  believe  the  charge.  I  despise  the  falsehood.  If 
such  a  charge  were  made  by  an  honest  man,  I  would  answer 
it  in  the  manner  I  shall  do  before  I  sit  down.  But  I  shall 
first  reply  to  it,  when  not  made  by  an  honest  man. 

The  right  honorable  gentleman  has  called  me  "  an  unim- 
peached  traitor."  I  ask  why  not  "  traitor,"  unqualified  by 
an  epithet  ?  I  will  tell  him — it  was  because  he  durst  not. 
It  was  the  act  of  a  coward  who  raises  his  arm  to  strike,  but 
has  not  the  courage  to  give  the  blow.  I  will  not  call  him 
villain,  because  it  would  be  unparliamentary,  and  he  is  a 
privy  counselor.  I  will  not  call  him  fool,  because  he  hap- 
pens to  be  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer.  But  I  say,  he  is 
one  who  has  abused  the  privilege  of  Parliament,  and  freedom 
of  debate,  by  uttering  language  which,  if  spoken  out  of  the 
House,  I  should  answer  only  with  a  blow.  I  care  not  how 
high  his  situation,  how  low  his  c^iaracter,  how  contemptible 
his  speech ;  whether  a  privy  counselor  or  a  parasite — my 
answer  would  be  a  blow.  ^ 

He  has  chaged  me  with  being  connected  with  the  rebels. 
The  charge  is  utterly,  totally,  and  meanly  false.  Does  the 
honorable  gentleman  rely  on  the  report  of  the  House  of 
Lords  for  the  foundation  of  his  assertion  .?  If  he  does,  I  can 
prove  to  the  committee  that  there  was  a  physical  impossi- 
bility of  that  report  being  true.  But  I  scorn  to  answer  any 
man  for  my  conduct,  whether  he  be  a  political  coxcomb,  or 
whether  he  brought  himself  into  power  by  a  false  glare  of 
courage  or  not. 

I  have  returned, — not,  as  the  right  honorable  member  has 
said,  to  raise  another  storm, — I  have  returned  to  discharge 
an  honorable  debt  of  gratitude  to  my  country  that  conferred 
a  great  reward  for  past  services,  which,  I  am  proud  to  say, 
was  not  greater  than  my  desert.      I  have  returned  to  protect 


25<'  //////■   HrRKIlT 

that  ton>iituiii,)n  nf  wliich  1  was  ilic  parent  and  founder, 
irom  the  assassination  of  such  men  as  the  right  honorable 
gentleman  and  his  unworthy  associates.  'I'hcy  are  corrupt, 
they  are  seditious,  and  they  at  this  very  moment  are  in  a 
conspiracy  against  their  country.  I  have  returned  to  refute 
a  libel  as  false  as  it  is  malicious,  given  to  the  public  under 
the  appellation  of  a  report  of  the  committee  of  the  Lords. 
Here  I  stand  ready  for  impeachment  or  trial.  I  dare 
accusation.  I  ilefy  the  honorable  gentleman;  I  defy  the 
government;  1  defy  their  whole  jjhalanx;  let  them  come 
forth.  I  tell  the  ministers,  1  will  neither  give  quarter  nor 
take  it.  1  am  here  to  lay  the  shattered  remains  of  my  con- 
stitution on  the  floor  of  this  House,  in  defense  of  the  liberties 
of  mv  countrv. 


ONE   NICHE   THE    HIGHEST 

By  ELmu  Burritt,  "The  Learned  Blacksmith,"  Linguist,  Lecturer, 
Author.  Born  in  New  Britain,  Conn. ,  i8ii;  died  in  New  Britain, 
1879. 

The  scene  opens  with  a  view  of  the  great  Natural  Bridge 
in  \'irginia.  There  are  three  or  four  lads  standing  in  the 
chaimel  below,  looking  up  with  awe  to  that  vast  arch  of 
unhewn  rocks,  which  the  Almighty  bridged  over  those  ever- 
lasting butments,  "  when  the  morning  stars  sang  together." 
The  little  piece  of  sky  spanning  those  measureless  piers  is 
full  of  stars,  although  it  is  midday. 

It  is  almost  five  hundred  feet  from  where  they  stand,  up 
those  perpendicular  bulwarks  of  limestone  to  the  key-rock 
of  that  vast  arch  which  appears  to  them  only  of  the  size  of  a 
man's  hand.  The  silence  of  death  is  rendered  more  impressive 
by  the  little  stream  that  falls  from  rock  to  rock  down  the 
channel.  The  sun  is  darkened,  and  the  boys  have  uncon- 
sciously uncovered  their  heads,  as  if  standing  in  the  presence- 
chamber  of  the  majesty  of  the  whole  earth. 


ONE  NICHE    THE  HIGHEST  257 

At  last  this  feeling  begins  to  wear  away;  they  begin  to  look 
around  them;  they  find  that  others  have  been  there  before 
them.  They  see  the  names  of  hundreds  cut  in  the  limestone 
butments.  A  new  feeling  comes  over  their  young  hearts, 
and  their  knives  are  in  their  hands  in  an  instant.  "  What 
man  has  done,  man  can  do,"  is  their  watchword,  while  they 
draw  themselves  up,  and  carve  their  names  a  foot  above  those 
of  a  hundred  full-grown  men  who  have  been  there  before 
them. 

They  are  all  satisfied  with  this  feat  of  physical  exertion, 
except  one.  This  ambitious  youth  sees  a  name  just  above 
his  reach — a  name  that  will  be  green  in  the  memory  of  the 
world,  when  those  of  Alexander,  Caesar,  and  Bonaparte  shall 
be  lost  in  oblivion.      It  was  the  name  of  Washington. 

It  v/as  a  glorious  thought  of  the  boy,  to  write  his  name 
side  by  side  with  that  of  the  great  father  of  his  country.  He 
grasped  his  knife  with  a  firmer  hand,  and  clinging  to  a  little 
jutting  crag,  he  cuts  a  gain  into  the  limestone,  about  a  foot 
above  where  he  stands;  he  then  reaches  up  and  cuts  another 
for  his  hands. 

'Tis  a  dangerous  adventure;  but  as  he  puts  his  feet  and 
hands  into  those  gains,  and  draws  himself  up  carefully  to  his 
full  length,  he  finds  himself  a  foot  above  every  name 
chronicled  in  that  mighty  wall.  W'hile  his  companions  are 
regarding  him  with  concern  and  admiration,  he  cuts  his  name 
in  rude  capitals,  large  and  deep  into  that  flinty  album. 

His  knife  is  still  in  his  hand,  and  strength  in  his  sinews, 
and  a  new  created  aspiration  in  his  heart.  Again  he  cuts 
another  niche,  and  again  he  carves  his  name  in  larger 
capitals.  This  is  not  enough.  Heedless  of  the  entreaties 
of  his  companions,  he  cuts  and  climbs  again.  The  grada- 
tions of  his  ascending  scale  grow  wider  apart. 

He  now,  for  the  first  time,  casts  a  look  beneath  him.  Had 
that  glance  lasted  a  moment,  that  moment  would  have  been 
his  last.  He  clings  with  a  convulsive  shudder  to  his  little 
niche   in    the   rock.      He   is   faint  with  severe  exertion,  and 


858  Fl.lHU   RURRITT 

trembling  from  tlu*  sudilen  view  of  the  dreadful  destruction 
to  which  he  is  exposeil.  What  a  moment  I  \\'h:it  n  meager 
chance  to  escape  destruction!  There  is  no  rctiiuing  liis 
steps.  It  is  impossible  to  ]>ut  his  hand  into  the  saim-  niche 
witii  his  feet,  and  retain  his  slender  hold  a  moment. 

His  companions  instantly  j)erceive  this  new  and  fearful 
dilemma,  and  await  his  fall  with  emotions  that  "  freeze  their 
young  blood.'"  He  is  too  high,  too  faint,  to  ask  fur  his 
father  and  motluT,  and  brotlurs  antl  sisters.  lUit  one  of  his 
companions  anticipates  his  desire.  Swift  as  the  wind,  he 
bounds  down  the  channel,  and  the  situation  of  the  ill-fated 
boy  is  told  upon  his  father's  hearth-stone. 

Minutes  of  almost  eternal  length  roll  on.  The  poor  boy 
hears  the  hum  of  new  and  numerous  voices  both  above  and 
below.  He  can  distinguish  the  tones  of  his  father,  who  is 
shouting,  with  all  the  energy  of  despair,  "  William!  William! 
don't  look  down!  Your  mother,  and  Henry,  and  Harriet, 
are  all  here,  praying  for  you.  Don't  look  down!  Keep 
your  eyes  towards  the  top!  " 

The  boy  didn't  look  down.  His  eye  is  fixed  like  a  flint 
towards  heaven,  and  his  young  heart  on  Him  who  reigns 
there.  He  grasps  again  his  knife.  Pie  cuts  another  niche, 
and  another  foot  is  added  to  the  hundreds  that  remove  him 
from  the  reach  of  human  help  from  below.  How  carefully 
he  uses  his  wasting  blade!  How  anxiously  he  selects  the 
softest  places  in  that  vast  pier!  How  he  economizes  his 
physical  powers,  resting  a  moment  at  each  gain  he  cuts! 
How  every  motion  is  watched  from  below ! 

The  sun  is  half  way  down  the  west.  The  lad  has  made 
fifty  additional  niches  in  that  mighty  wall,  and  now  finds 
himself  directly  under  the  middle  of  that  vast  arch  of  rocks, 
earth,  and  trees. 

Fifty  more  gains  must  be  cut  before  the  longest  rope  can 
reach  him.  His  wasting  blade  strikes  again  into  the  lime- 
stone. The  boy  is  emerging  painfully,  foot  by  foot,  from 
under  that  lofty  arch.     Spliced  ropes  are  ready  in  the  hands 


ONE  NICHE    THE  HIGHEST  259 

of  those  who  are  leaning  over  the  outer  edge  of  the  bridge. 
Two  minutes  more  and  all  must  be  over.  The  blade  is  worn 
to  the  last  half  inch.  The  boy's  head  reels;  his  eyes  are 
starting  from  their  sockets.  His  last  hope  is  dying  in  his 
heart;  his  life  must  hang  on  the  next  gain  he  cuts.  That 
niche  is  his  last. 

At  the  last  faint  gash  he  makes,  his  knife — his  faithful 
knife — falls  from  his  little  nerveless  hand,  and  ringing  along 
the  precipice,  falls  at  his  mother's  feet.  An  involuntary 
groan  of  despair  runs  like  a  death-knell  through  the  channel 
below,  and  all  is  still  as  the  grave.  At  the  height  of  nearly 
three  hundred  feet,  the  devoted  boy  lifts  his  hopeless  heart, 
and  closes  his  eyes  to  commend  his  soul  to  God. 

'Tis  but  a  moment — there!  one  foot  swings  off — he  is 
reeling — trembling — toppling  over  into  eternity!  Hark!  a 
shout  falls  on  his  ear  from  above!  The  man  who  is  lying 
with  half  his  length  over  the  bridge  has  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  boy's  head  and  shoulders.  Quick  as  thought  the 
noosed  rope  is  within  reach  of  the  sinking  youth.  No  one 
breathes.  With  a  faint  convulsive  effort,  the  swooning  boy 
drops  his  arms  into  the  noose.  Darkness  comes  over  him, 
and  with  the  words  "  God  ! — Mother  !  "  on  his  lips,  the 
tightening  rope  lifts  him  out  of  his  last  shallow  niche.  Not 
a  lip  moves  while  he  is  dangling  over  that  fearful  abyss;  but 
when  a  sturdy  Virginian  reaches  down  and  draws  up  the  lad, 
and  holds  him  up  in  his  arms  before  the  tearful,  breathless 
multitude,  such  shouting — such  leaping  and  weeping  for  joy 
' — never  greeted  the  ear  of  a  human  being  so  recovered  from 
the  yawning  gulf  of  eternity. 


»6o  UII.IIAM   MKINt.r.Y 


GRANT 

Hy  Wiit.iAM  MrKlNI.FY,  Lawyer,  Statesman;  Member  of  Congress, 
iSyo-cjO;  l.ovorimr  (if  Ohio,  i8()i  05;  rnsiileiit  of  tlie  Uiiifed  States, 
1897 — .      Horn  in  Nilcs.  <  >liio.   iS4^. 

Krom  a  speecli  made  at  Onlena,  111.,  April  2;,  i-.jj.     Reprinted,  by  permission  of  the 
publishers,  from  "  McKinlcy's  Masterpieces,"  published  by  1,.  C.  Page  &  Co  ,  Boston. 

With  no  ciisparagennMit  to  otIicr.><,  two  names  ri.sc  above 
all  tin;  rest  in  American  history  since  (ieoru^e  Washington — 
transcendently  above  them.  They  are  Abraham  Lincoln  and 
Ulysses  S.  Grant.  Each  will  be  remembered  for  what  he  ilid 
and  accomplished  for  his  race  and  for  mankintl.  Lincoln 
proclaimed  liberty  to  four  million  slaves,  and  upon  his  act 
invited  "the  considerate  judgment  of  mankind  and  tlie 
gracious  favor  of  Almighty  God."  He  has  received  the 
warm  approval  of  the  one,  and  I  am  sure  he  is  enjoying  the 
generous  benediction  of  the  other.  His  was  the  greatest, 
mightiest  stroke  of  the  war.  Grand  on  its  humanitv  side, 
masterly  in  its  military  aspect,  it  has  given  to  his  name  an 
imperishable  place  among  men.  Grant  gave  irresistible 
power  and  efficacy  to  the  Proclamation  of  Liberty.  The  iron 
shackles  which  Lincoln  declared  should  be  loosed  from  the 
limbs  and  souls  of  the  black  slaves.  Grant  with  his  matchless 
army  melted  and  destroyed  in  the  burning  glories  of  the  war; 
and  the  rebels  read  the  inspired  decree  in  the  Hashing  guns 
of  his  artillery,  and  they  knew  what  Lincoln  had  decreed 
Grant  would  execute. 

Only  a  few  years  ago,  in  one  of  his  journeys  through  the 
South,  when  he  was  receiving  a  great  ovation,  some  colored 
men  crowded  his  hotel  to  look  into  the  face  and  to  grasp  the 
hand  of  their  great  deliverer.  To  this  intrusion  objection 
was  made,  and  the  colored  men  were  about  to  be  ejected, 
when  the  General  appeared,  and  in  his  quiet  way,  full  of 
earnest  feeling,  said:  "  Where  I  am  they  shall  come  also." 
He  believed  in   the    brotherhood    of   man,   in   the  political 


CR/1NT  26l 

equality  of  all  men;  he  had  secured  that  with  his  sword,  and 
was  prompt  to  recognize  it  in  all  places  and  everywhere. 

But,  my  friends,  Death  had  marked  him  for  a  victim. 
He  fought  Death  with  his  iron  will  and  his  old-time  courage, 
but  at  last  yielded,  the  first  and  only  time  the  great  soldier 
was  ever  vanquished.  He  had  routed  every  other  foe,  he  had 
triumphed  over  every  other  enemy,  but  this  last  one  con- 
cjuered  him,  as  in  the  end  he  conquers  all.  He  was  not  an 
old  man  when  he  died;  but,  after  all,  what  a  completed  life 
was  his! 

Mightier  events  and  mightier  achievements  were  never 
crowded  into  a  single  life  before,  and  he  lived  to  place  them 
in  enduring  form,  to  be  read  by  the  millions  living  and  the 
millions  yet  unborn.  Then  laying  down  his  pen,  he  bowed 
resignedly  before  the  Angel  of  Death,  saying:  "  If  it  is  God's 
providence  that  I  shall  go  now,  I  am  ready  to  obey  His  will 
without  a  murmur." — Great  in  life,  majestic  in  death!  He 
needs  no  monument  to  perpetuate  his  fame;  it  will  live  and 
glow  with  increased  luster  so  long  as  liberty  lasts  and  the 
love  of  liberty  has  a  place  in  the  hearts  of  men.  Every 
soldiers'  monument  throughout  the  North,  now  standing  or 
hereafter  to  be  erected,  will  record  his  worth  and  work  as 
well  as  those  of  the  brave  men  who  fought  by  his  side.  His 
most  lasting  memorial  will  be  the  work  he  did,  his  most  en- 
during monument  the  Union  which  he  and  his  heroic 
associates  saved,  and  the  priceless  liberty  they  secured. 

Surrounded  by  a  devoted  family^  wath  a  mind  serene  and 
a  heart  resigned,  he  passed  over  to  join  his  fallen  comrades 
beyond  the  river,  on  another  field  of  glory.  Above  him  in 
his  chamber  of  sickness  and  death  hung  the  portraits  of 
Washington  and  Lincoln,  whose  disembodied  spirits  in  the 
Eternal  City  were  watchjng  and  waiting  for  him  who  was  to 
complete  the  immortal  trio  of  America's  first  and  best  loved; 
and  as  the  earthly  scenes  receded  from  his  view,  and  the 
celestial  appeared,  I  can  imagine  those  were  the  first  to  greet 
his  sight  and  bid  him  welcome. 


M'.>  l:MM.-1   HUNTINGTON   N.4SON 

\Vc  arc  not  a  nation  of  luTo-worshipcrs.  Wc  arc  a  nation 
of  generous  freemen.  Wc  bow  in  affectionate  reverence  and 
with  most  grateful  hearts  to  these  immortal  names,  Washing- 
ton, Lincoln,  ami  Cirant,  antl  will  guard  with  sleepless 
vigilance  their  mighty  work  and  cherisli  their  memories  ever- 
more. 

UNTER    DEN    LINDEN 

June  16,  I "^7 1 

By  Emma  IlrNTtNOTON  Nason,  Poet.     Bom  in  Ilallowell,  Me.,  1845. 

Krom   "  The  'lower  with  Legends  and  Lyrics,"  published,  in  i8->5,  by  Houghtoiv 
Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston  and  New  York.     By  permission  of  the  author. 

L 

"  Victory!  "     This  was  the  first  that  she  read: 
And  then,  "  Heart's  dearest,"  the  soldier  had  said. 
Tracing  the  lines  in  a  faltering  way, 
"  Heart's  dearest,  the  hospital  surgeons  say 
That  I  shall  be  out  of  their  hands  to-day. 
'Twas  an  ugly  wound,  but  the  danger  is  past; 
I  am  coming  to  you,  at  last — at  last! 
Unter  den  Linden!     Yes,  we  shall  be  there! 
Come  with  a  rose  in  your  dark  shining  hair — 
Not  the  white  blossoms  )'Ou  once  used  to  wear. 
White  roses  are  meet  for  those  who  are  slain  ; 
The  rich  wine-red,  for  the  welcome,  remain, 
Red  as  our  life-blood,  and  sweet  as  the  air 
That  floated  from  Eden,  sweet  and  as  rare; 
Greet  me  with  a  wine-red  rose  in  your  hair! 
Germania  triumphs!      Come  with  a  song; 
And  can  you,  dear  heart,  be  patient  and  strong  ? 
For  slow  is  the  crutch  and  ghastly  the  sling. 
And  gone  is  the  hand  that  once  wore  the  ring — 
Your  ring,  the  one  pledge  I  promised  to  bring! 
I  yield  them  ungrudged,  with  life,  should  need  be. 
But  hold  fast  my  troth  to  country  and  thee." 


THE  SCHOOLS  AND   COLLEGES   OF  OUR    COUNTRY.    263 

II. 

In  through  the  Brandenburg  gateway  they  come. 

With  clashing  of  arms  and  clangor  of  drum! 

Uiiter  den  Linden!     How  proudly  thy  shade 

Quivers  and  thrills  with  the  wild  cannonade. 

As  wild  as  the  battle's  carnival  made! 

Borne  on  its  passion  we  catch  up  the  song; 

Thrilling  and  swelling,  it  thunders  along; 

Hear  it,  ye  nations  afar  o'er  the  sea! 

"  Germania  triumphs!     Germania  free — 

Free  and  united  through  glad  victory!  " 

Heroes  of  Saarbriick  and  INIetz  and  Sedan 

Tell  how  the  torrent  of  victory  ran ! 

Fair  hands  of  women  shall  bring  from  afar 

Hundreds  of  flowers  for  each  bloody  scar — 

Scars  that  far  dearer  than  rare  jewels  are. 

' '  The  Emperor  comes ! ' '  for  his  guardsmen  make  way ! — 

"  A  woman,  struck  faint,  has  fallen,"  ye  say  ? 

And  the  troops,  in  their  jubilant  grand  review, 

March  on  through  the  linden-grown  avenue; 

But  she  in  her  death-swoon  still  lieth  there, 

A  woman  stone-white,  yet  passingly  fair. 

With  the  bloom  of  a  wine-red  rose  in  her  hair. 

Ah !   what  did  ye  hear  the  guardsman  had  said  ? 

"  Only  a  man,  in  the  hospital,  dead!  " 

THE  SCHOOLS  AND  COLLEGES  OF  OUR  COUNTRY 

By  Charles  William  Eliot,  Educator;  President  of  Harvard  Univer- 
sity, 1S69.     Born  in  Boston,  Mass.,  1834. 
Delivered  at  the  Washington  Centennial  in  New  York  York  City,  April  30,  1889. 

That  brief  phrase — the  schools  and  colleges  of  the  United 
States — is  a  formal  and  familiar  one;  but  what  imagination 
can  grasp  the  infinitude  of  human  affections,  powers,  and 
wills  which  it  reall/  comprises  ?     Imagine  the  eight  million 


264  CHMRIFS    U'lIl-l.-tM   lU.lOT 

cliiKlrcn  actually  in  attendance  at  the  lUnicntary  selmols  of 
the  country  broup;ht  before  your  view.  They  would  lill  lliis 
great  house  sixteen  luindred  times,  and  every  tiim  it  wmiKl 
be  packed  with  bounillcss  hives  and  hojies.  I'.ach  unit  in 
that  mass  speaks  of  a  glad  birth,  a  brightened  home,  a 
mother's  i)ondcring  heart,  a  fatlur's  careful  joy.  In  all  that 
multituile  every  little  heart  boumls  and  every  eye  shines  at 
the  nami'  of  Washington. 

Next  i>icture  to  yourselves  the  sixty  thousand  students  in 
colleges  and  universities — selected  youth  of  keen  intelligence, 
wide  reading,  and  high  ambition.  They  are  able  to  compare 
Washington  with  the  greatest  men  of  other  times  and  coun- 
tries, and  to  appreciate  the  unique  quality  of  his  renown. 
They  can  set  him  beside  the  heroes  of  romance  and  history 
— beside  David,  Alexander,  Pericles,  Cxsar,  Charlemagne, 
John  Hampden,  William  the  Silent,  Peter  of  Russia,  and 
Frederick  the  Great,  only  to  find  him  a  nobler  human  type 
than  anv  one  of  them,  completer  in  his  nature,  happier  in 
liis  cause,  and  more  fortunate  in  the  great  issues  of  his 
career.  They  recognize  in  him  a  simple,  stainless,  and 
robust  character,  which  served  with  dazzling  success  the 
precious  cause  of  human  progress  through  liberty,  and  so 
stands,  like  the  sunlit  peak  of  the  ]\Iattcrliurn,  unmatched 
in  all  the  world. 

And  what  shall  I  say  on  behalf  of  the  three  hundred  and 
sixty  thousand  teachers  of  the  United  States  }  They  deserve 
some  mention  to-day.  None  of  them  are  rich  or  famous; 
most  of  them  are  poor,  retiring,  and  unnoticed;  but  it  is 
they  who  are  building  a  perennial  monument  to  \\'ashington. 
It  is  they  who  give  him  a  million-tongued  fame.  They  make 
him  live  again  in  the  young  hearts  of  successive  generations, 
and  fix  his  image  there  as  the  American  ideal  of  a  public 
servant. 

It  is  through  the  schools  and  colleges  and  the  national 
literature  that  the  heroes  of  any  people  win  lasting  renown  : 
and  it  is  through  these  same  agencies  that  a  nation  is  rao^'ied 


AGAINST    FLOGGING   IN    THE   NAl/Y  265 

into  the  likeness  of  its  heroes.  This  local  commemoration 
of  one  great  event  in  the  life  of  Washington  and  of  the 
United  States  is  well ;  but  it  is  as  nothing  compared  with  the 
incessant  memorial  of  him  which  the  schools  and  colleges 
uf  the  country  maintain  from  generation  to  generation. 

What  a  reward  is  Washington's!  What  an  influence  is  hi:-, 
and  will  be!  One  mind  and  will  transfused  by  sympathetic 
instruction  into  millions,  one  character  a  standard  for 
millions,  one  life  a  pattern  for  all  public  men,  teaching  what 
greatness  is,  and  what  the  pathway  to  undying  fame. 


AGAINST   FLOGGING    IN   THE   NAVY 

By  Robert  Field  Stockton,  Commodore  in  the  United  States  Navy; 
United  States  Senator  from  New  Jersey,  1851-53.  Born  at  Princeton, 
N.  J.,  1795;  died  at  Princeton,  1866. 

Taken  from  a  speech  delivered  in  the  Senate,  January  7,  1852  ;  the  Senate  having  un- 
:ier  consideration  a  memorial  from  citizens  of  the  United  States  praying  that  the  practice 
of  flogging  in  the  U.  S.  Navy  should  not  be  abolished.  See  Cotii^!  essioiuii  Clol/e, 
Jan.  7,  1S52. 

There  is  one  broad  proposition  upon  which  I  stand.  It 
is  this:  That  an  American  sailor  is  an  American  citizen,  and 
that  no  American  citizen  shall,  with  my  consent,  be  sub- 
jected to  the  infamous  punishment  of  the  lash.  If,  when  a 
citizen  enters  the  service  of  his  country,  he  is  to  forego  the 
protection  of  those  laws  for  the  preservation  of  which  he  is 
willing  to  risk  his  life,  he  is  entitled,  in  all  justice,  humanity, 
and  gratitude,  to  all  the  protection  that  can  be  extended  to 
him,  in  his  peculiar  circumstances.  He  ought,  certainly,  to 
be  protected  from  the  infliction  of  a  punishment  which  stands 
condemned  by  the  almost  universal  sentiment  of  his  fellow 
citizens;  a  punishment  which  is  proscribed  in  the  best 
prison-government,  proscribed  in  the  schoolhouse,  and 
proscribed  in  the  best  government  on  earth — that  of  parental 
domestic  affection.  Yes,  sir,  expelled  from  the  social  circle, 
from  the  schoolhouse,  the  prison-house,  and  the  Army,  it 
finds  defenders  and  champions  nowhere  but  in  the  Navy! 


»66  ROBl-RT    FIFin  STOCKTON 

Look  to  your  histi)ry, — tliat  part  d  it  wliich  the  world 
knows  by  heart, — and  you  will  Ihul  on  its  hiijj^htcst  page  the 
glorious  achievements  of  the  Aiiurican  sailor.  NN'hatevcr  his 
country  lias  ilone  to  disgrace  liini  ami  break  his  sjjirit,  he 
has  never  disgraced  her;  he  has  always  been  ready  to  serve 
her;  he  always  /nts  served  her  faithfully  ami  effectually,  lie 
has  often  been  weighed  in  the  bahxnce,  and  never  found 
wanting.  The  only  fault  ever  found  with  him  is  that  he 
sometimes  fights  ahead  of  liis  orders.  The  world  has  no 
match  for  him,  man  for  man ;  and  he  asks  no  odds,  and  he 
cares  for  no  odds,  when  the  cause  of  humanity,  or  the  glory 
of  his  country,  calls  him  to  fight.  Who,  in  the  darkest  days 
of  our  Revolution,  carried  your  flag  into  the  very  chops  of 
the  British  Channel,  bearded  the  lion  in  his  den,  and  woke 
the  echoes  of  old  Albion's  hills  by  the  thunders  of  his 
cannon  and  the  shouts  of  his  triumph  ?  It  was  the  American 
sailor.  And  the  names  of  John  Paul  Junes,  and  the  Bon 
Homme  Richard,  will  go  down  the  annals  of  time  forever. 
\N'ho  struck  the  first  blow  that  humbled  the  Barbary  flag, — 
which,  for  a  hundred  years,  had  been  the  terror  of  Christen- 
dom,— drove  it  from  the  INIediterranean,  and  put  an  end  to 
the  infamous  tribute  it  had  been  accustomed  to  extort  .f"  It 
was  the  American  sailor.  And  the  name  of  Decatur  and  his 
gallant  companions  will  be  as  lasting  as  monumental  brass. 
In  your  War  of  1812,  when  your  arms  on  shore  were  covered 
by  disaster, — when  Winchester  had  been  defeated,  when  the 
Army  of  the  Northwest  had  surrendered,  and  when  the  gloom 
of  despondency  hung  like  a  cloud  over  tlie  land, — who  first 
relit  the  fires  of  national  glory,  and  made  the  welkin  ring 
with  the  shouts  of  victory  .'  It  was  the  American  sailor. 
And  the  names  of  Hull  and  the  Constitution  will  be  remem- 
bered, as  long  as  we  have  left  anything  worth  remembering. 
That  was  no  small  event.  The  wand  of  Mexican  prowess 
was  broken  on  the  Rio  Grande.  The  wand  of  British 
invincibility  was  broken  when  the  flag  of  the  Guerriere  came 
down.      That  one  event  was  worth  more  to  the   Republic 


CLAUDIUS  AND   CYNTHIA  267 

than  all  the  money  which  has  ever  been  expended  for  the 
Navy.  Since  that  day,  the  Navy  has  had  no  stain  upon  its 
escutcheon,  but  has  been  cherished  as  your  pride  and  glory. 
And  the  American  sailor  has  established  a  reputation  through- 
out the  world, — in  peace  and  in  war,  in  storm  and  in  battle, 
— for  heroism  and  prowess  unsurpassed.  He  shrinks  from 
no  danger,  he  dreads  no  foe,  and  yields  to  no  superior.  No 
shoals  are  too  dangerous,  no  seas  too  boisterous,  no  climate 
too  rigorous  for  him.  The  burning  sun  of  the  tropics  can- 
not make  him  effeminate,  nor  can  the  eternal  winter  of  the 
polar  seas  paralyze  his  energies.  Foster,  cherish,  develop 
these  characteristics  by  a  generous  and  paternal  government. 
Excite  his  emulation  and  stimulate  his  ambition  by 
rewards.  But,  above  all,  save  him,  save  him  from  the 
brutalizing  lash,  and  inspire  him  with  love  and  confidence 
for  your  service — and  then  there  is  no  achievement  so 
arduous,  no  conflict  so  desperate,  in  which  his  actions  will 
not  shed  glory  upon  his  country.  And  when  the  final 
struggle  comes,  as  soon  it  will  come,  for  the  empire  of  the 
seas,  you  may  rest  with  entire  confidence  in  the  persuasion 
that  victory  will  be  yours. 

CLAUDIUS  AND   CYNTHIA 

(Abridged) 

By  Maurice  Thompson,   Civil  Engineer,  Lawyer,   Essayist,  Novelist, 
Poet.      Born  in  Fairfield,  Intl.,  1844. 

Taken  from  Scrz'iner's  Monthly  for  February,  1870.  It  is  interesting  to  note  in  con- 
nection with  this  selection  that  Mr.  Thompson  is  a  skillful  archer.  The  title  of  one  of 
his  books  is  "  The  Witchery  of  Archery." 

It  was  in  the  mid-splendor  of  the  reign  of  the  Emperor 
Commodus.  Especially  desirous  of  being  accounted  the  best 
swordsman  and  the  most  fearless  gladiator  of  Rome,  he  still 
better  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  the  incomparable 
archer.  This  being  true,  it  can  w^ell  be  understood  how 
Claudius,  by  publicly  boasting  that  he  was  a  better  archer 


-^'S  MAURICE   THOMPSON 

than  C'ommoilus,  liaii  broui^ht  ui)on  hiinstif  the  calamity  of 
a  i>ublic  execution. 

lUit  not  even  Nero  would  have  thought  of  bringing  the 
girl  to  her  lieath  for  the  fault  of  the  lover. 

(.lauilius  and  his  young  bride  had  been  arrested  together 
at  their  wedding-feast,  and  dragged  to  separate  dungeons  to 
await  the  Kmperor's  will.  The  rumor  was  abroad  that  a 
most  startling  scene  would  be  enacted  in  the  circus.  The 
result  was  that  all  the  seats  were  filled  with  people  eager  to 
witness  some  harrowing  scene  of  death. 

Commodus  himself,  surrounded  by  a  great  number  ol 
favorites,  sat  on  a  richly  cushioned  throne  about  midway  one 
side  of  the  inclosure.  All  was  still,  as  if  the  multitude  were 
breathless  with  expectancy.  Presently  out  from  one  of  the 
openings  Claudius  and  his  young  bride — their  hands  bound 
behind  them — were  led  forth  upon  the  arena  and  forced  to 
walk  around  the  entire  circumference  of  the  place. 

At  length  the  giant  circuit  was  completed,  and  the  two 
were  left  standing  on  the  sand  about  one  hundred  and  twenty 
feet  from  the  Emperor,  who  nov.'  arose  and  in  a  loud  voice 
said : 

"  Behold  the  condemned  Claudius,  and  Cynthia  whom  he 
lately  took  for  his  wife.  They  are  condemned  for  the  great 
folly  of  Claudius,  that  the  Roman  people  may  know  that 
Commodus  reigns  supreme.  The  crime  for  which  they  are 
to  die  is  a  great  one.  Claudius  has  publicly  proclaimed  that 
he  is  a  better  archer  than  I,  Commodus,  am.  I  am  the 
Emperor  and  the  incomparable  archer  of  Rome :  whoever 
disputes  it  dies,  and  his  wife  dies  with  him.      It  is  decreed." 

The  youth,  erect  and  powerful,  set  his  thin  lips  firmly  and 
kept  his  eyes  looking  straight  out  before  him.  Many  knew 
him  as  a  trained  athlete  and  especially  as  an  almost  unerring 
archer;  they  knew  him,  too,  as  a  brave  soldier,  a  true  friend, 
an  honorable  citizen.  Little  time  remained  for  such  reflec- 
tions as  might  have  arisen,  for  immediately  a  large  cage, 
containing  two  fiery-eyed  and  famished  tigers,  was  brought 


CLAUDIUS  AND   CYNTHIA  269 

into  the  circus  and  placed  before  the  victims.  The  hungry 
beasts  were  excited  to  madness  by  the  smell  of  fresh  blood, 
which  had  been  smeared  on  the  bars  of  the  cage  for  that 
purpose.  They  growled  and  howled,  lapping  their  fiery 
tongues  and  plunging  against  the  door. 

Look  for  a  brief  moment  upon  the  picture:  fifty  thousand 
faces  thrust  forward  gazing;  the  helpless  couple  lost  to 
everything  but  the  black  horrors  of  death,  quivering  from 
head  to  foot.  Note  the  spotless  beauty  and  unselfish  love 
of  the  girl.  Mark  well  the  stern  power  of  the  young  man's 
face.  And  now,  O,  now  look  at  the  bounding  tigers!  See 
how  one  leads  the  other  in  the  awful  race  to  the  feast.  The 
girl  is  nearer  than  the  man.  She  will  feel  the  claws  and 
fangs  first.  How  wide  those  red,  frothing  mouths  gape! 
How  the  red  tongues  loll !  The  sand  files  up  in  a  cloud 
from  the  armed  feet  of  the  leaping  brutes. 

There  came  from  the  place  where  Commodus  stood  a  clear 
musical  note,  such  as  might  have  come  from  the  gravest  cord 
of  a  lyre,  if  powerfully  stricken,  closely  followed  by  a  keen 
far-reaching  hiss,  like  the  whisper  of  fate,  ending  in  a  heavy 
blow.      The  multitude  caught  breath  and  stared. 

The  foremost  tiger,  while  yet  in  mid-air,  curled  itself  up 
with  a  gurgling  cry  of  utter  pain,  and  with  blood  gushing 
from  its  eyes,  ears,  and  mouth,  fell  heavily  down  dying. 
Again  the  sweet,  insinuating  twang,  the  hiss,  the  stroke. 

The  second  beast  fell  dead  or  dying  upon  the  first.  This 
explained  all.  The  Emperor  had  demonstrated  his  right  to 
be  called  the  Royal  Bowman  of  the  World. 

Had  the  tyrant  been  content  to  rest  here,  all  would  have 
been  well. 

While  yet  the  beasts  were  struggling  with  death  he  gave 
orders  for  a  shifting  of  the  scenes.      He  was  insatiable. 

For  the  first  time  during  the  ordeal  the  youth's  eyes 
moved.  The  girl,  whose  back  was  turned  toward  the  beasts, 
was  still  waiting  for  the  crushing  horror  of  their  assault. 

A  soldier  now  approached  the  twain,  and,  seizing  the  arm 


a  7©  M/iURICF.    THOMPSON 

of  each,  Icil  tliem  some  paces  further  away  from  tlic  I'Jiiperor, 
whore  he  statiom-d  thcin  facinj:^  each  oilier,  and  with  their 
sides  to  Coininodiis,  wlio  was  preparing;  to  slioot  again. 

Before  drawing  his  bow,  he  cried  aloiul,  "  Behold,  ("oni- 
inodus  will  pierce  the  centre  of  the  ear  of  each!  " 

The  lovers  were  gazing  into  each  other's  eyes  still  as 
statues,  as  if  frozen  by  the  cold  fascination  of  death.  C'oni- 
modus  drew  his  bow  with  tremendous  power,  fetching  the 
cord  back  to  his  breast,  where  for  a  moment  it  was  held 
without  the  faintest  (piiver  of  a  muscle.  Ilis  eyes  were  fixed 
and  cold  as  steel. 

The  arrow  fairly  shrieketl  through  the  air,  so  swift  was  its 
flight. 

The  girl,  filled  with  ineffable  pain,  flung  up  lier  white 
arms,  the  rent  thongs  flying  away  in  the  paroxysms  of  her 
final  struggle.  The  arrow  struck  in  the  sand  beyond. 
Something  like  a  divine  smile  flashed  across  her  face.  Again 
the  bow-string  rang,  and  the  arrow  leaped  away  to  its  thrill- 
ing work.  What  a  surge  the  youth  made!  The  cord 
leaped  from  Ins  wrists,  and  he  clasped  the  falling  girl  in  his 
embrace. 

All  eyes  saw  the  arrow  hurtling  along  the  sand  after  its 
mission  was  done.  Commodus  stood  like  fate,  leaning  for- 
ward to  note  the  perfectness  of  his  execution.  His  eyes 
blazed  with  eager,  heartless  triumph.  "  Lead  them  out,  and 
set  them  free,  and  tell  it  everywhere  that  Commodus  is  the 
incomparable  bowman." 

And  then,  when  all  at  onca  it  was  discovered  that  he  had 
not  hurt  the  lovers,  but  had  merely  cut  in  two  with  his 
arrows  the  cords  that  bound  their  wrists,  a  great  stir  began, 
and  out  from  a  myriad  overjoyed  and  admiring  hearts  leaped 
a  storm  of  thanks,  while,  with  the  clash  and  bray  of  musical 
instruments,  and  with  voices  like  the  voices  of  winds  and 
seas,  and  with  a  clapping  of  hands  like  the  rending  roar 
of  tempests,  the  vast  audience  arose  as  one  person,  and 
applauded  the  Kmperor. 


RECEiyiNG    THE  MASTER'S  DEGREE   FROM  HARl^ARD   271 


ON    RECEIVING   THE   MASTER'S    DEGREE    FROM 
HARVARD 

By  Booker  Taliaferro  Washington,  Educator;  Principal  of 
Tuskegee  Normal  and  Industrial  Institute.  Born  a  slave  near  Hale's 
Ford,  Va.,  in  1857  or  1858. 

A  speech  made  at  Harvard  Commencement,  June  24,  1896.     See  Harvard  Gradu- 
ates' Mixgaziiie,  September,  1896. 

It  would  in  some  measure  relieve  embarrassment  if  I  could 
in  even  a  slight  degree  feel  myself  worthy  of  the  great  honor 
which  you  do  me  to-day.  Why  3'ou  have  called  me  from  the 
Black  Belt  of  the  South,  from  among  my  humble  people,  to 
share  in  the  honors  of  this  occasion,  is  not  for  me  to  explain; 
and  yet  it  may  not  be  inappropriate  for  me  to  suggest  that 
it  seems  to  me  that  one  of  the  most  vital  questions  that 
touch  our  American  life  is  how  to  bring  the  strong,  the 
wealthy,  and  the  learned  into  helpful  touch  with  the  poorest, 
most  ignorant,  and  humble,  and  at  the  same  time  make  the 
one  appreciate  the  vitalizing,  strengthening  influence  of  the 
other.  How  shall  we  make  the  dwellers  in  the  mansions  on 
yon  Beacon  Street  feel  and  see  the  need  of  the  spirits  in  the 
lowliest  cabin  in  Alabama  cotton-fields  or  Louisiana  sugar- 
bottoms  ?  This  problem  Harvard  University  is  solving,  not 
by  bringing  itself  down,  but  by  bringing  the  masses  up. 

If  through  me,  a  humble  representative,  seven  millions 
of  my  people  in  the  South  might  be  permitted  to  send  a 
message  to  Harvard, — Harvard,  that  offered  up  on  death's 
altar  Shaw  and  Russell  and  Lowell  and  scores  of  others  that 
we  might  have  a  free  and  united  country, — that  message 
would  be,  "Tell  them  that  the  sacrifice  was  not  in  vain. 
Tell  them,  by  the  way  of  the  shop,  the  field,  the  skilled 
hand,  habits  of  thrift  and  economy,  by  the  way  of  the  indus- 
trial school  and  college,  we  are  coming  up.  We  are  crawling 
up,  working  uj),  yea,  bursting  up, — often  through  oppres- 
sion, unjust  discrimination,  and  prejudice;  but  through  them 
all  we  are  coming  up,  and,  with  proper  habits,  intelligence. 


2  7  -'  liOOKrK  T.  •/  /.  /.  ■iri:RKO  I  / '.  IS/  //,\'(;  n  )s' 

aiul   i>roj>iTty,    tlicrc   is   no   j)i)\vcr   on    earth  ili.it   cii    j)er- 
inancntly  st.iy  our  prot^rcss.  " 

If  my  life  in  the  past  lias  meant  anything;  in  the  lifting  up 
of  my  j)eopie,  and  the  bringing  about  of  better  relations 
between  your  race  and  mine,  I  assure  you  from  this  day  it 
will  mean  doubly  more.  In  the  economy  of  God  there  is 
but  one  stantlard  by  which  an  individual  can  succeed, — there 
is  but  one  for  a  race.  This  country  demands  that  every  race 
measure  itself  by  the  .Vmerican  standard.  By  it  a  race  must 
rise  or  fall,  succeed  or  fail,  and  in  the  last  analysis  mere 
sentiment  counts  for  little.  During  the  next  half-century 
and  more,  my  race  must  continue  passing  through  the  severe 
American  crucible.  We  are  to  be  tested  in  our  patience, 
our  forbearance,  our  perseverance,  our  power  to  endure 
wrong,  to  withstand  temptations,  to  economize,  to  acquire 
and  use  skill;  our  ability  to  compete,  to  succeed  in  com- 
merce, to  disregard  the  superficial  for  the  real,  the  appearance 
for  the  substance ;  to  be  great  and  yet  small,  learned  and  yet 
simple,  high  and  yet  the  servant  of  all.  This,  this  is  the 
passport  to  all  that  is  best  in  the  life  of  our  Republic,  and 
the  negro  must  possess  it  or  be  debarred. 

While  we  are  thus  being  tested,  I  beg  of  you  to  remember 
that  wherever  our  life  touches  yours  we  help  or  we  hinder. 
Wherever  your  life  touches  ours  you  make  us  stronger  or 
weaker.  No  member  of  your  race  in  any  part  of  our  countr\ 
can  harm  the  meanest  member  of  mine  without  the  proudest 
and  bluest  blocd  in  Massachusetts  being  degraded.  When 
Mississippi  commits  crime,  New  England  commits  crime, 
and  in  so  much  lowers  the  standard  of  your  civilization. 
There  is  no  escape, — man  drags  man  down,  or  man  lifts  man 
up.  In  working  out  our  destiny,  while  the  main  burden  and 
center  of  activity  must  be  with  us,  we  shall  need,  in  a  large 
rtieasure,  in  the  years  that  are  to  come,  as  we  have  had  in 
the  past,  the  help,  the  encouragement,  the  guidance  that  the 
strong  can  give  the  weak.  Thus  helped,  we  of  both  races 
in  the  South  shall  soon  throw  off  the  shackles  of  racial  and 


THE  SOLDIER   BOY  273 

sectional  prejudice  and  rise,  as  Harvard  University  has  risen 
and  as  we  all  should  rise,  above  the  clouds  of  ignorance,  nar- 
rovv^ness,  and  selfishness  into  that  atmosphere,  that  pure  sun- 
shine, where  it  will  be  our  highest  ambition  to  serve  man, 
our  brother,  regardless  of  race  or  past  condition. 

THE   SOLDIER   BOY 

By  John  Davis  Long,  Lawyer,  Author;  Governor  of  Massachusetts, 
1882-88;  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  1897—.  Born  in  Buckfield,  Maine, 
1838. 

From  an  oration  delivered  before  the  Grand  Army  Posts  of  Suffolk  County,  Boston, 
May  30,  1SS2. 

Reprinted,  by  permission  of  the  author,  from  "  After  Dinner  and  Other  Speeches," 
published  by  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston,  copyright,  1895,  by  John  D.  Long. 

Memorial  Day  will  hereafter  gather  around  it  not  only  the 
love  and  tears  and  pride  of  the  generations  of  the  people,  but 
more  and  more,  in  its  inner  circle  of  tenderness,  the  linking 
memories  of  every  comrade,  so  long  as  one  survives.  As  the 
dawn  ushers  it  in,  tinged  already  with  exquisite  flush  of 
hastening  June,  and  sweet  with  the  bursting  fragrance  of  her 
roses,  the  wheels  of  time  will  each  year  roll  back,  and  lo! 
John  Andrew  is  at  the  State-house,  inspiring  Massachusetts 
with  the  throbbing  of  his  own  great  heart;  Abraham  Lincoln, 
wise  and  patient  and  honest  and  tender  and  true,  is  at  the 
nation's  helm;  the  North  is  one  broad  blaze;  the  boys  in 
blue  are  marching  to  the  front;  the  fife  and  drum  are  on 
every  breeze;  the  very  air  is  patriotism;  Phil  Sheridan,  forty 
miles  away,  dashes  back  to  turn  defeat  to  victory;  Farragut, 
lashed  to  the  mast-head,  is  steaming  into  Mobile  Harbor; 
Hooker  is  above  the  clouds, — ay,  now  indeed  forever  above 
the  clouds;  Sherman  marches  through  Georgia  to  the  sea; 
Grant  has  throttled  Lee  with  the  grip  that  never  lets  go; 
Richmond  falls;  the  armies  of  the  Republic  pass  in  that  last 
great  review  at  Washington;  Custer's  plume  is  there,  but 
Kearney's  saddle  is  empty;  and,  now  again,  our  veterans 
come  marching  home  to  receive  the  welcome  of  a  grateful 


2  74  JOHN   iK-triS   l.ONC 

people,  and  to  staek  in  Dorie  Hall  the  tattired  Hags  wliiih 
Massachusetts  forever  Ijence  shall  wear  above  her  heart. 

In  nieniorv  of  the  tieaci,  in  honor  ol  the  living,  for  insjiira- 
tion  to  our  ehiUlnn,  we  gather  to-day  to  deck  the  graves  of 
our  patriots  with  flowers,  to  j)ledge  conniionwealth  and  town 
and  citizen  to  fresh  rccitgnition  of  tiie  surviving  soldier,  anil 
to  picture  yet  again  the  romance,  the  reality,  the  glory,  the 
sacrifice  of  his  service.  As  if  it  were  but  yesterday  you  recall 
him.  He  had  but  turned  twenty.  The  exquisite  tint  of 
youthful  health  was  on  his  cheek.  His  pure  heart  shone 
from  frank,  outspeaking  eyc^.  His  fair  hair  clustered  frr)ni 
beneath  his  cap.  He  had  pulled  a  stout  oar  in  the  college 
race,  or  walked  the  most  graceful  athlete  on  the  village 
green.  He  had  just  entered  on  the  vocation  of  his  life. 
The  doorway  of  his  home  at  this  season  of  the  year  was  bril- 
liant in  the  dewy  morn  with  the  clambering  vine  and  fragrant 
flower,  as  in  and  out  he  went,  the  beloved  of  mothers  and 
sisters,  and  the  ideal  of  a  New  England  youth.    .    .    . 

And  when  the  drum  beat,  when  the  first  martyr's  blood 
sprinkled  the  stones  of  Baltimore,  he  took  his  place  in  the 
ranks  and  went  forward.  You  remember  his  ingenuous  and 
glowing  letters  to  his  mother,  written  as  if  his  pen  were 
dipped  in  his  very  heart.  How  novel  seemed  to  him  the 
routine  of  service,  the  life  of  camp  and  march!  How  eager 
the  wish  to  meet  the  enemy  and  strike  his  first  blow  for  the 
good  cause!  What  pride  at  the  promotion  that  came  and  jnit 
its  chevron  on  his  arm  or  its  strap  upon  his  shoulder!   ,    .    . 

They  took  him  i)risoner.  He  wasted  in  Libby  and  grew 
gaunt  and  haggard  with  the  horror  of  his  sufferings  and  with 
pity  for  the  greater  horror  of  the  sufferings  of  his  comrades 
who  fainted  and  died  at  his  side.  .  .  .  He  tunneled  the  earth 
and  escaped.  Hungry  and  weak,  in  terror  of  recapture,  he 
followed  by  night  the  pathway  of  the  railroad.  He  slept  in 
thickets  and  sank  in  swamps.  He  saw  the  glitter  of  horse- 
men who  pursued  him.  He  knew  the  bloodhound  was  en 
his  track.     He  reached  the  line;  and,  with  his  hand  grasping 


THE    UNKNOH-'N   Sri'.AKER  275 

at  freedom,  they  caught  and  took  him  back  to  captivity. 
He  was  exchanged  at  last ;  and  you  remember,  when  he 
came  home  on  a  short  furlough,  how  manly  and  war-worn 
he  had  grown.  But  he  soon  returned  to  the  ranks  and  to 
the  welcome  of  his  comrades.  They  recall  him  now  alike 
with  tears  and  pride.  In  the  rifle-pits  around  Petersburg 
you  heard  his  steady  voice  and  firm  command.  Some  one 
who  saw  him  then  fancied  that  he  seemed  that  day  like  one 
who  forefelt  the  end.  But  there  was  no  flinching  as  he 
charged.  He  had  just  turned  to  give  a  cheer  when  the  fatal 
ball  struck  him.  There  was  a  convulsion  of  the  upward 
hand.  His  eyes,  pleading  and  loyal,  turned  their  last  glance 
to  the  flag.  His  lips  parted.  He  fell  dead,  and  at  nightfall 
lay  with  his  face  to  the  stars.  Home  they  brought  him, 
fairer  than  Adonis  over  whom  the  goddess  of  beauty  wept. 
They  buried  him  in  tlie  village  churchyard  under  the  green 
turf.  Year  by  year  his  comrades  and  his  kin,  nearer  than 
comrades,  scatter  his  grave  with  flowers.  Do  you  ask  who 
he  was  .''  He  was  in  every  regiment  and  every  company. 
He  went  out  from  every  Massachusetts  village.  He  sleeps 
in  every  Massachusetts  burying-ground.  Recall  romance, 
recite  the  names  of  heroes  of  legend  and  song,  but  there  is 
none  that  is  his  peer. 


THE    UNKNOWN    SPEAKER 

By  George  Lippard,  Author.      Born  near  Yellow  Springs,  Penn.,  1822; 
died  in  Philadelphia,  1854. 

It  is  the  P'ourth  day  of  July,  1776.  In  tlie  old  State- 
house  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia  are  gathered  half  a  hundred 
men  to  strike  from  their  limbs  the  shackles  (.1  jjiitish 
despotism.  There  is  silence  in  the  hall — every  face  is  turneil 
toward  the  door  where  the  committee  of  three,  who  liave 
been  out  all  night  penning  a  parchment,  are  soon  to  enter. 
The  door  opens,  the  committee  appear. 


276  croRCE  iirr.iRD 

Tlic  throe  advance  to  the  table. 

The  paicliineiit  is  hiul  there. 

Shall  it  be  signed  or  not  ?  A  fierce  debate  ensues.  But 
still  there  is  doubt,  and  tme  pale-faced  man  whispers  sonic- 
thing  about  axes,  scaffolds,  and  a  gibbet. 

"  (iil>bet  .'  "  echoes  a  fierce,  bold  voice  through  the  hall, 
"  Gibbet  .'  They  may  stretch  our  necks  on  all  the  gibbets 
in  the  land;  they  may  turn  every  rock  into  a  scaffold;  every 
tree  into  a  gallows;  every  home  into  a  grave,  and  yet  the 
words  of  that  parchment  there  can  never  die!  They  may 
pour  our  blood  on  a  thousand  scaffolds,  and  yet  from  every 
drop  that  dyes  the  axe  a  new  champion  of  freedom  will 
spring  into  birth.  The  British  king  may  blot  out  the  stars 
of  God  from  the  sky,  but  he  cannot  blot  out  His  words 
written  on  that  parchment  there.  The  works  of  God  may 
perish;   His  words,  never! 

"  The  words  of  this  declaration  will  live  in  the  world  long 
after  our  bones  are  dust.  To  the  mechanic  in  his  workshoj) 
they  will  speak  hope;  to  the  slave  in  the  mines,  freedom; 
but  to  the  coward-kings  these  words  will  speak  in  tones  of 
warning  they  cannot  choose  but  hear. 

"  They  will  be  terrible  as  the  flaming  syllables  on  Bel- 
shazzar's  wall!  They  will  speak  in  language  startling  as 
the  trump  of  the  Archangel,  saying:  *  You  have  trampled  on 
mankind  long  enough!  At  last  the  voice  of  human  woe  has 
pierced  the  ear  of  God,  and  called  His  judgment  down! 
You  have  waded  to  thrones  through  rivers  of  blood;  you 
have  trampled  on  the  necks  of  millions  of  fellow  beings. 
Now  kings,  now  purple  hangmen,  for  yoti  come  the  days  of 
axes  and  gibbets  and  scaffolds. ' 

"Sign  that  parchment!  Sign,  if  the  next  moment  the 
gibbet's  rope  is  about  your  neck!  Sign,  if  the  next  minute 
this  hall  rings  with  the  clash  of  the  falling  axes!  Sign  by 
all  }our  hopes  in  life  or  death  as  men,  as  husbands,  as 
fathers,  brothers:  sign  your  names  to  the  parchment,  or  be 
accursed  forever! 


THE   UNKNOIVN  SPEAKER  277 

"  Sign,  and  not  only  for  yourselves,  but  for  all  ages,  for 
that  parchment  will  be  the  text-book  of  freedom — the  Bible 
of  the  rights  of  men  forever.  Nay,  do  not  start  and  whisper 
with  surprise!  It  is  truth,  your  own  hearts  witness  it;  God 
proclaims  it.  Look  at  this  strange  history  of  a  band  of  exiles 
and  outcasts  suddenly  transformed  into  a  people — a  handful 
of  men  weak  in  arms — but  mighty  in  God-like  faith;  nay, 
look  at  your  recent  achievements,  your  Bunker  Hill,  your 
Lexington,  and  then  tell  me  if  you  can  that  God  has  not 
given  America  to  be  free! 

"  As  I  live,  my  friends,  I  believe  that  to  be  His  purpose! 
Yes,  were  my  soul  trembling  on  the  verge  of  eternity,  were 
this  hand  freezing  in  death,  were  this  voice  choking  in  the 
last  struggle,  I  would  still  with  the  last  impulse  of  that  soul, 
with  the  last  wave  of  that  hand,  with  the  last  gasp  of  that 
voice,  implore  you  to  remember  this  truth— God  has  given 
America  to  be  free!  Yes,  as  I  sank  into  the  gloomy  shadows 
of  the  grave,  with  my  last  faint  whisper  I  would  beg  you  to 
sign  that  parchment  for  the  sake  of  the  millions  whose  very 
breath  is  now  hushed  in  intense  expectation  as  they  look  up 
to  you  for  the  awful  words  '  You  are  free! 

The  unknown  speaker  fell  exhausted  in  his  seat;  but  the 
work  was  done. 

A  wild  murmur  runs  through  the  hall.  "  Sign!  "  There 
is  no  doubt  now.  Look  how  they  rush  forward!  Stout- 
hearted John  Hancock  has  scarcely  time  to  sign  his  bold 
name  before  the  pen  is  grasped  by  another — another  and 
another.  Look  how  the  names  blaze  on  the  parchment ! 
Adams  and  Lee,  Jefferson  and  Carroll,  Franklin  and  Sher- 
man ! 

And  now  the  parchment  is  signed. 

Now,  old  man  in  the  steeple,  now  bare  your  arm  and  let 
the  bell  speak!  Hark  to  the  music  of  that  bell!  Is  there 
not  a  poetry  in  that  sound,  a  poetry  more  sublime  than  that 
of  Shakespeare  and  Milton  ?  Is  there  not  a  music  in  tliat 
sound  that  reminds  vou  of  those  sublime  tones  which  broke 


278  rKf:in:Rn:  Ri:\t:  coidirt 

from  angtl  lips  wlicn  tin.-  news  of  the  cliild  Jesus  burst  cm  the 
hill-tops  of  Ik thlehcin  ?  For  the  tones  of  that  bell  now  conic 
pealing,  pealing,  pealing,  "  Independence  now  and  Inde- 
pendence forever. 


THE    CITY    OF    NEW    YORK 

Bv   FRinKKii-   Kvsi-.  C'oiukk  r.    l.awver.      K<irn  in  New   \i<r\<.   X.    Y., 

,832. 

From  a  speech   made  at  the  anmiai   banquet  of   ihe  New  I'.iigland  Society  in  New 
York  City,  December  2x,  1884. 

1  am  aware  that  other  cities  have  claimed  the  precedence 
if  not  the  monopoly  of  early  patriotism  and  of  early  self- 
denial  in  the  good  cause.  New  York  City  is  so  rich  in 
present  goods  and  past  glories  that  she  has,  perhaps  with 
excessive  indulgence,  looked  smilingly  upon  the  earnest 
advocates  of  these  untenable  claims.  But  historic  truth 
cannot  afford  to  be  thus  blinded.  She  will  tell  you  that  this 
island  city  was  the  first  to  throw  down  the  gauntlet  to  royal 
armies  and  to  royal  fleets.  Rhode  Island  and  Maryland, 
especially  the  latter,  may  have  worn  before  her  the  crown  of 
religious  toleration;  but  even  in  the  early  days,  when 
religious  freedom  was  almost  unknown  to  the  best  and  wisest 
men,  this  soil  upon  which  we  stand  to-night  was  open  to  the 
persecuted  of  all  climates.  I  shall  not  speak  of  the  sectaries 
of  ]\Iassachusett.s,  driven  from  their  homes  by  persecution 
which  it  is  not  pleasant  to  think  of  now;  but  Jews  and 
Dissenters  the  world  over,  fleeing  from  the  cruelties  which 
they  endured  for  conscience'  sake,  found  here  a  home  and 
safety.    .  .    . 

Pray  tell  me  in  what  particular  our  city  has  not  been  the 
first  to  sound  the  clarion  of  rebellion  against  tyranny;  tcj 
speak  in  loud  tones  for  civil  liberty  and  political  independ- 
ence .''  More  than  two  hundred  years  ago  the  merchants  of 
New  York  declared  that  they  must  have  a  voice  and  a  vote 
in  the  administration  of  ])ublic  business;   and  they  meant  it, 


THE   CITY   OF  NEIV    YORK  279 

and  showed  their  good  faith  by  stubborn  resistance  until 
final  success.  Who  maintained  the  liberty  of  the  press  by 
first  consecrating  its  importance  through  the  verdict  of  a 
jury  ?  Who  first  opposed  by  arms  the  odious  claim  that 
citizens  could  be  impressed  by  force  into  the  military  and 
naval  service  ?  Who  led  the  battle  against  the  Stamp  Act, 
and  declared  it  to  be  the  duty  of  the  colonies  to  consider  as 
an  act  of  tyranny  any  violation  of  her  rights  and  privileges  ? 
New  York,  ever  New  York!  To  sum  all  up,  who  first  shed 
the  blood  of  her  citizens  in  defense  of  America,  if  not  New 
York  ? 

But  the  glory  of  New  York  in  the  past  was  but  the  promise 
of  the  fruit  that  was  to  ripen  in  the  future.  She  stands 
to-day  firm  in  the  enjoyment  of  those  great  truths  and  bless- 
ings which  cost  so  much  blood  and  treasure  to  secure.  All 
the  noble  tendencies  of  her  origin  have  been  developed. 
No  city  exceeds  her  in  wealth,  education,  intelligence,  and 
prosperity.  None  approaches  her  in  that  which  best  proves 
her  excellence — I  mean  her  charity.  To  enumerate  the 
manifold  channels  in  which  that  ever-flowing  charity  pursues 
its  daily  course  would  far  exceed  my  limits.  It  covers  every 
form  of  human  suffering.  It  embraces  every  nationality  and 
creed — it  knows  no  limitation.  The  great  heart  of  our  city 
has  a  throb  of  pity  for  every  form  of  wretchedness.  Nay, 
going  beyond  this  sympathy  with  human  misfortune,  one  of 
our  citizens  was  the  first  to  discover  that  the  dumb  beast 
appealed  to  the  humanity  of  man,  and  that  his  duty  was  not 
complete  until  he  heeded  that  appeal.  The  helpless  child 
who  was  elsewhere  left  to  the  cruel  mercies  of  the  law  or  to 
the  isolated  exercise  of  religious  or  individual  bounty,  became 
the  object  of  new  and  enlightened  solicitude.  Our  thrifty 
citizens,  quite  ready  to  scrutinize  with  jealous  care  the 
expenditure  of  their  money  in  taxation,  have  ever  grumbled 
and  still  grumble  with  Anglo-Saxon  heartiness  at  all  tributes 
that  are  unreasonable  and  extravagant.  But  where  the 
education  of  our  people  is  concerned  their  voice  is  silent, 


aSo  ;/•///   ('.-tRirroN 

except  to  urge  renewed  and  increased  expenditure.  Tlic 
descendants  of  the  men  who  shed  blood  to  resist  a  jutty 
exaction  because  it  was  against  their  riglits,  spend  four 
millions  and  more  every  year  that  all  may  be  bountifully 
supplieil  with  intellectual  food.  Her  rapidly  increasing 
wealth  is  surpas.setl  by  the  ra])iclly  accumulating  monuments 
of  her  generosity.  Libraries,  liosjiitals,  drinking-fountains, 
art  associations,  relieve,  enlighten,  encourage,  and  delight 
those  on  whom  fortune  has  never  smiled.  Freely  has  she 
received  and  freely  does  slic  give,  remembering  that  of  all 
virtues  charity  is  the  greatest.  That  there  are  no  dark  spots 
in  the  picture,  who  will  pretend  .'  But  wc  all  know  and  feel 
that  we  may  build  much  hope  for  the  future  on  the  glories 
of  the  past  and  the  greatness  of  the  present.  No  hand  is 
strong  enough  to  destroy  our  city,  except  that  of  her  own 
children. 


THE    FIRST    SETTLER'S    STORY 

By    Will    Carleton,    Lecturer,    Journalist,    Author,    Poet.      Born    i 
Hudson,  Mich.,  1845;  living  in  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 

From  "  Farm    Festivals,"   by  Will   Carleton.     Copyright,  1S81,   1898,  by  Harper 
Brothers,  New  York. 

Well,  when  I  first  infested  this  retreat, 
Things  to  my  vew  look'd  frightful  incomplete; 
But  1  had  come  with  heart-thrift  in  my  song, 
And  brought  my  wife  and  plunder  right  along; 
I  hadn't  a  round-trip  ticket  to  go  back, 
And  if  I  had  there  was  no  railroad  track; 
And  drivin'  East  was  what  I  couldn't  endure: 
I  hadn't  started  on  a  circular  tour. 

My  girl-wife  was  as  brave  as  she  was  good, 
And  help'd  me  every  blessed  way  she  could; 
She  seem'd  to  take  to  every  rough  old  tree, 
As  sing'lar  as  when  first  she  took  to  me. 


THF.    FIRST  SETTLER'S  STORY  281 

She  kep'  our  little  log-house  neat  as  wax, 

And  once  I  caught  her  fooling  with  my  axe. 

She  hadn't  the  muscle  (though  she  had  the  heart) 

In  out-door  work  to  take  an  active  part; 

She  was  delicious,  both  to  hear  and  see, — 

That  pretty  girl-wife  that  kep'  house  for  me. 

Well,  neighborhoods  meant  counties  in  those  days; 
The  roads  didn't  have  accommodating  ways; 
And  maybe  weeks  would  pass  before  she'd  see — 
And  much  less  talk  with — any  one  but  me. 
The  Indians  sometimes  show'd  their  sun-baked  faces. 
But  they  didn't  teem  with  conversational  graces; 
Some  ideas  from  the  birds  and  trees  she  stole, 
But  'twasn't  like  talking  with  a  human  soul; 
And  finally  I  thought  that  I  could  trace 
A  half  heart-hunger  peering  from  her  face. 

One  night,  when  I  came  home  unusual  late, 
Too  hungry  and  too  tired  to  feel  first-rate. 
Her  supper  struck  me  wrong  (though  I'll  allow 
She  hadn't  much  to  strike  with,  anyhow); 
And,  when  I  went  to  milk  the  cows,  and  found 
They'd  wandered  from  their  usual  feeding-ground. 
And  maybe'd  left  a  few  long  miles  behind  'em, 
Which  I  must  copy  if  I  meant  to  find  'em. 
Flash-quick  the  stay-chains  of  my  temper  broke, 
And  in  a  trice  these  hot  words  I  had  spoke: 
"  You  ought  to've  kept  the  animals  in  view, 
And  drove  them  in;  you'd  nothing  else  to  do. 
The  heft  of  all  our  life  on  me  must  fall; 
You  just  lie  round,  and  let  me  do  it  all." 

That  speech, — it  hadn't  been  gone  a  half  a  minute 
Before  I  saw  the  cold  black  poison  in  it; 
And  I'd  have  given  all  I  had,  and  more, 
To've  only  safely  got  it  back  in-door. 


I'm  now  what  most  folks  "  wcll-to-di)  "  woiiKl  luII: 
1  feci  to-day  as  if  Id  give  it  all, 
Provided  I  through  fifty  years  might  reach 
Ami  kill  and  Imry  that  half-minute  sjjeech. 

She  handed  back  nt^*  words,  as  I  could  hear; 
She  tliiln't  frown;   she  didnt  shed  a  tear; 
Half  proud,  half  crush'd,  she  stood  and  look'd  me  o'er, 
Like  some  one  she  had  never  seen  before! 
But  such  a  sudden  anguish-lit  surprise 
I  never  view'd  before  in  human  eyes. 
(I've  seen  it  oft  enough  since  in  a  dream; 
It  sometimes  wakes  me  like  a  midnight  scream.) 

Next  morning,  when,  stone-faced  but  heavy-hearted, 
With  dinner-pail  and  sharpen'd  axe  I  started 
Away  for  my  day's  work,  she  watch'd  the  door, 
And  follow'd  me  half-way  to  it  or  more; 
And  I  was  just  a-turning  rountl  at  this, 
And  asking  for  my  usual  good-by  kiss; 
But  on  her  lip  I  saw  a  proudish  curve. 
And  in  her  eye  a  shadow  of  reserve; 
And  she  had  shown — perhaps  half  unawares — 
Some  little  independent  breakfast  airs; 
And  so  the  usual  parting  didn't  occur. 
Although  her  eyes  invited  me  to  her; 
Or  rather  half  invited  me,  for  she 
Didn't  advertise  to  furnish  kisses  free: 
You  always  had — that  is,  I  had — to  pay 
Full  market  price,  and  go  more'n  half  the  way; 
So,  with  a  short  "  Good-by"  I  shut  the  door. 
And  left  her  as  I  never  had  before. 
But  when  at  noon  my  lunch  I  came  to  eat. 
Put  up  by  her  so  delicately  neat, — 
Choicer,  somewhat,  than  yesterday's  had  been. 
And  some  fresh,  sweet -eyed  pansies  she'd  put  in, — 


THE  FIRST  SETTLER'S  STORY  28 j 

"  Tender  and  pleasant  thoughts,''  I  knew  they  meant,— 
It  seem'd  as  if  with  me  her  kiss  she'd  sent ; 
Then  I  became  once  more  her  humble  lover, 
And  said,  "To-night  I'll  ask  forgiveness  of  her." 

I  went  home  over-early  on  that  eve, 
Having  contrived  to  make  myself  beUeve, 
By  various  signs  I  kind  o'  knew  and  guess'd, 
A  thunder-storm  was  coming  from  the  west. 
('Tis  strange,  when  one  sly  reason  fills  the  heart, 
How  many  honest  ones  will  take  its  part: 
A  dozen  first-class  reasons  said  'twas  right 
That  I  should  strike  home  early  on  that  night. ) 

Half  out  of  breath,  the  cabin  door  I  swung, 
With  tender  heart-words  trembling  on  my  tongue; 
But  all  within  look'd  desolate  and  bare: 
My  house  had  lost  its  soul:  she  was  not  there! 
A  pencil' d  note  was  on  the  table  spread, 
And  these  are  something  like  the  words  it  said: 
"  The  cows  have  stray'd  away  again,  I  fear; 
I  watch'd  them  pretty  close;  don't  scold  me,  dear. 
And  where  they  are  I  think  I  nearly  know; 
I  heard  the  bell  not  very  long  ago. 
I've  hunted  for  them  all  the  afternoon; 
I'll  try  once  more, — I  think  I'll  find  them  soon. 
Dear,  if  a  burden  I  have  been  to  you. 
And  haven't  help'd  you  as  I  ought  to  do. 
Let  old-time  memories  my  forgiveness  plead; 
I've  tried  to  do  my  best, — I  have,  indeed. 
Darling,  piece  out  with  love  the  strength  I  lack. 
And  have  kind  v/ords  for  me  when  I  get  back." 

Scarce  did  I  give  this  letter  sight  and  tongue, — 
Some  swift-blown  rain -drops  to  the  window  clung. 
And  from  the  clouds  a  rough,  deep  growl  proceeded, 
My  thunder-storm  had  come,  now  'twasn't  needed. 


-^S4  irji.L    C.IKLhION 

I  ru>h\l  oiit-iloor.      TIk-  air  was  staiu'il  witli  black: 

Night  hail  conic  early,  on  the  siorni-cloud's  back: 

And  everything  kept  ilinuning  to  the  sight, 

Save  when  the  clouds  threw  their  electric  light; 

When,  for  a  llash,  so  clean-cut  was  the  view, 

Id  think  I  saw  her, — knowing  'twas  nt)t  true. 

Tlirougli  my  small  clearing  dash'd  wide  sheets  of  spray, 

As  if  the  ocean  waves  had  lost  their  way; 

Scarcely  a  pause  the  thunder-battle  made, 

In  the  bold  clamor  of  its  cannonade. 

And  she,  while  I  was  shelter' d,  dry,  and  warm, 

Was  somewhere  in  the  clutches  of  this  storm! 

She  who,  when  storm-frights  found  her  at  her  best, 

Had  always  hid  her  white  face  on  my  breast ! 

My  dog,  who'd  skirmish'd  round  me  all  the  day, 
Now  crouch'd  and  whimpering,  in,  a  corner  lay. 
I  dragg'd  him  by  the  collar  to  the  wall, 
I  press'd  his  quivering  muzzle  to  a  shawl, — 
"  Track  her,  old  boy!  "  I  shouted;  and  he  whined, 
Match'd  eyes  with  me,  as  if  to  read  my  mind, 
Then  with  a  yell  went  tearing  through  the  wood. 
I  follow'd  him,  as  faithful  as  I  could. 
No  pleasure-trip  was  that,  through  flood  and  flame 
We  raced  with  death ;  we  hunted  noble  game. 
All  night  we  dragg'd  the  woods  without  avail; 
The  ground  got  drench 'd, — we  could  not  keep  the  trail. 
Three  times  again  my  cabin  home  I  found, 
Half  hoping  she  might  be  there,  safe  and  sound ; 
But  each  time  'twas  an  unavailing  care: 
My  house  had  lost  its  soul:  she  was  not  there! 

When,  climi)ing  the  wet  trees,  next  morning-sun 
I^ugh'd  at  the  ruin  that  the  night  had  done. 
Bleeding  and  drench'd,  by  toil  and  sorrow  bent. 
Back  to  what  used  to  be  mv  home  I  went. 


77//;   I'lRST  SETTLER'S  STORY  285 

But,  as  I  near'd  our  little  clearing-ground, — 

Listen! — I  heard  the  cow-bell's  tinkling  sound. 

The  cabin  door  was  just  a  bit  ajar; 

It  gleam'd  upon  my  glad  eyes  like  a  star. 

"  Brave  heart,"  I  said,  "  for  such  a  fragile  form! 

She  made  them  guide  her  homewanl  through  the  storm!  " 

Such  pangs  of  joy  I  never 'felt  before. 

"  You've  come!  "  I  shouted,  and  rush'd  through  the  door. 

Yes,  she  had  come, — and  gone  again.      She  lay 
With  all  her  young  life  crush'd  and  wrench'd  away, — 
Lay,  the  heart-ruins  of  our  home  among, 
Not  far  from  where  I  kill'd  her  with  my  tongue. 
The  rain-drops  glitter'd  'mid  her  hair's  long  strands, 
The  forest  thorns  had  torn  her  feet  and  hands, 
And  'midst  the  tears — brave  tears — that  one  could  trace 
Upon  the  pale  but  sweetly  resolute  face, 
I  once  again  the  mournful  words  could  read, 
"  Lve  tried  to  do  my  best, — I  have,  indeed." 

And  now  Lm  mostly  done;  my  story's  o'er; 
Part  of  it  never  breathed  the  air  before. 
'Tisn't  over-usual,  it  must  be  allow'd. 
To  volunteer  heart-story  to  a  crowd, 
And  scatter  'mongst  them  confidential  tears, 
But  you'll  protect  an  old  man  with  his  years; 
And  wheresoe'er  this  story's  voice  can  reach, 
This  is  the  sermon  I  would  have  it  preach: 

Boys  flying  kites  haul  in  their  white-wing'd  birds: 
You  can't  do  that  way  when  you're  flying  words. 
''  Careful  with  lire,"  is  good  advice  we  know; 
"  Careful  with  words,"  is  ten  times  doubly  so. 
Thoughts  unexpress'd  may  sometimes  fall  back  dead, 
But  Ood  Himself  can't  kilj  then)  wjicn  they're  saicj! 


286  RicH^RP  s.-nri-N  SrORRS 

You  li;\vf  iiiv  lifr-griif :   do  not  tiiink  a  minute 
■  Twas  toKl  to  take  up  time.      'I'liero's  business  in  it. 
It  shevls  advice:   whoe'er  will  take  and  live  it 
Is  welcome  to  the  pain  it  costs  to  give  it. 


THE    PURITAN    SPIRIT 

Bv  Richard  Salter  Storrs,  rroaclier,  Autlior,  Lecturer;  Pastor 
Church  of  tlie  Pil^jrims,  Hrooklyii,  1846-99.  Born  at  Uraintice, 
Mass.,  1821;  died  in  Brooklyn,  1900. 

From  an  .iddress  before  the  Congregational  Club,  P.oston,  Mass.,  nccembcr  22,  1889. 
Hy  permission  of  the  publishers,  The  I'llgrini  I'rcss,  Boston  and  Chicago. 

Not  for  the  Puritan,  in  his  reservetl  and  haughty  conscious- 
ness of  supernal  relations,  is  the  dainty  sumptuousness  of 
color,  the  symmetric  grace  of  molded  marbles,  the  rhythmic 
reach  and  stately  height  of  noble  architecture,  the  pathos  and 
the  mystery  of  music.    .    .    . 

He  has  not  remembered  that  to  some  minds  a  relish  for 
what  is  lovely  in  fancy  and  in  art  is  as  native  as  color  to  the 
violet,  fragrance  to  the  rose,  or  song  to  the  birti:  that  God's 
own  mind  must  eternally  teem  with  beauty,  since  lie  lines 
with  it  the  tiny  sea-shell,  and  tints  the  fish,  and  tones  the 
hidden  fibers  of  trees,  and  flashes  it  on  breast  and  crest  of 
flving  birds,  and  breaks  the  tumbling  avalanche  into  myriads 
of  feathery  crystals,  and  builds  the  skies  in  a  splendor,  to  a 
rhythm,  which  no  thought  can  match.    .    .    . 

It  is  obvious,  too,  that  with  this  disesteem  of  things 
esthetic  has  been  often  associated  a  foolish  contempt  for  the 
minor  elegancies  of  life,  of  letters,  of  personal  manners,  and 
of  social  equipment,  with  sometimes  a  positively  dangerous 
disdain  of  the  common  innocent  pleasures  of  life.    .   .    . 

But  if  such  are  its  deficiencies,  which  we  may  not  hide, 
let  us  not  forget  that  it  has  also  certain  magnificent  qualities 
and  superlative  traits,  which  surely  we  ought,  as  well,  to 
recognize.  ...  It  has,  for  one  thing,  a  masterful  sincerity. 
,   .   .   Men  may  charge  the  Puritan  with  sternness,  and  with 


THE  PURITAN  SPIRIT  287 

being  too  little  regardful  of  others-  but  he  is  not  apt  to  be 
temporizing  in  policy,  ambiguous  cr  diplomatic  in  forms  of 
expression.   .  .    . 

It  is  certainly  to  be  said,  too,  that  if  the  Puritan  spirit  is 
not  naturally  strong  on  the  side  of  moral  tenderness,  it  has 
a  superb  and  shining  courage,  as  well  as  a  capacity  for 
tremendous  enthusiasm,  and  for  a  self-devotion  conspicuous 
and  complete.  It  is  not  afraid  of  what  man  can  do,  so  long 
as  it  feels  that  God  and  His  righteousness  are  on  its  side.  It 
has  been  frankly  and  gladly  ready  to  face  not  only  the  fierce 
charge  of  cavaliers,  but  loneliness,  exile,  the  sea,  and  the 
wilderness,  the  unknown  perils  of  a  soil  and  an  air  which 
civilization  had  not  tried,  the  cruel  craft  of  savage  enemies. 
It  has  gone  out  from  happy  homes  for  this,  and  from  lovely 
surroundings,  and  has  not  flinched  before  the  hazard  and 
life-long  loss,  any  more  than  it  had  flinched  before  the 
frowning  face  of  kings.   .    .    . 

]\Ien  have  made  kings  out  of  rubbish,  and  statesmen, 
so-called,  out  of  pedants  and  rogues.  They  have  tried,  at 
any  rate,  to  make  scholars  out  of  those  too  lazy  to  work, 
soldiers  out  of  padded  uniforms,  philanthropists  out  of 
cranks.  But  it  takes  a  strong  man,  and  a  sound  one,  to  be 
developed  into  a  Puritan. 

Samuel  Adams  was  a  Puritan,  if  ever  there  was  one:  son 
of  a  deacon  in  the  old  South  Church;  carefully  trained  in  his 
father's  ways;  of  whom  Hutchinson  said  that,  though  he 
was  poor,  such  was  his  inflexible  disposition  that  no  office 
could  bribe  him;  whom  Gage  excepted  by  name  from  his 
offer  of  pardon  to  penitent  rebels;  who  raised  and  ruled  the 
eager  democracy  of  the  town  and  the  State,  and  to  whom 
Washington  was  no  more  than  another,  if  he  did  not  succeed. 

Colonel  Abraham  Davenport  was  a  Puritan :  who  sat  in 
the  governor's  council  at  Hartford  on  the  extraordinary  dark 
day,  May  19,  1780,  when  chickens  went  to  roost  in  the 
morning,  and  cattle  came  lowing  from  the  fields,  when  a  pall 
of  darkness  swept  through  the  sky  as  if  the  sun  had  been 


-'^S  A7C7/.-/A7*   .s.-//  /7:A'   STOKHS 

siuklcnly  fXtiiii;ui>lKHl,  aiul  wluii  the  Day  « ii  Jmlgiiunt  waa 
triiuMiiij^ly  thought  to  be  at  haiui.  The  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives had  already  adjourned,  anil  it  was  jjroposed  to 
adjourn  the  council.  "  The  Day  of  Judgment  is  at  hand," 
saiil  the  C'olonel.  "  t)r  it  is  not.  If  not,  there  is  no  occasion 
for  adjournment.  If  it  is,  I  choose  to  l)e  found  doing  my 
duty.       Bring  in  the  candles."    .    .    . 

Wendell  Phillips  was  a  Puritan:  supple  as  an  athlete, 
graceful  as  Apollo,  gentle  as  a  woman  among  his  friends,  to 
whom  eloquence  was  an  idiom,  and  the  delightful  grace  of 
convcrsati*)n  botli  an  ornament  and  a  wea])on,  but  from  the 
silver  bow  of  whose  musical  lips  Hew  fiery  shafts  against 
whatever  api)cared  to  him  wrong,  and  whose  white  j)lume 
shone  always  in  the  dangerous. van  of  the  heady  figlit.    .   .    . 

Here,  tlien,  is  our  dut}"  j)lainiy  before  us:  not  to  eulogize 
this  spirit,  but  to  incorporate  it,  and  make  it  a  ])art  of  our 
personal  life.    .    .    . 

We  want  the  same  temper,  amid  the  changed  world  in 
which  our  personal  lot  has  been  cast,  which  has  been  in  those 
who  have  stood,  in  all  their  times,  against  corruption  in 
Church  or  in  State,  with  hearts  that  no  more  failed,  and 
brows  that  no  more  blanched,  than  does  the  granite  before 
the  rush  of  the  storm;  the  same  temper  which  was  in  our 
fathers  two  hundred  and  seventy  years  ago,  when  they  left 
whatever  was  beautiful  ?.t  home,  in  obedience  to  conscience, 
and  faced,  without  flinching,  the  sea  and  the  savage,  when 
they  sought  not  high  things,  and  were  joyfully  ready  to  be 
stepping-stones  for  others,  if  they  might  advance  the  kingdom 
of  God ;  but  when  they  gave  to  this  New  England  a  life 
which  has  molded  its  rugged  strength  from  that  day  to  this, 
lias  made  it  a  monument  surpassing  all  others  which  man 
can  build,  and  a  perj)etual  living  seminary  of  character  and 
of  power  for  all  the  land; — a  life,  please  God!  which  shall 
never'be  extinct,  among  the  stronger  souls  of  men,  j!ll  the 
earth  itself  shall  have  vanishetl  like  a  dream. 


THll  SOUTH  AND  HER   rROBLBMS  289 


THE    SOUTH    AND    HER    PROBLEMS 

By  Hknry  Woodfkn  Grady.  Journalist,  Orator.      Born  at  Athens,  Ga., 
1851;  died  at  Atlanta,  Ga.,  1889. 

'I'aken  from  a  speech  made  at  the  Texas  State  Fair,  at  Dallas,  October  26,  1887.  .See 
"  Henry  W.  Grady:  His  Life,  Writings,  and  Speeches,"  published  in  i8go  by  The 
Cassell  Publishing  Co.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

A  soldier  lay  wounded  on  a  hard-fought  field,  the  roar  of 
the  battle  had  died  away,  and  he  rested  in  the  deadly  stillness 
of  its  aftermath.  .  .  .  Off  over  the  field  flickered  the  lanterns 
of  the  surgeons  with  the  litter-bearers,  searching  that  they 
might  take  away  those  whose  lives  could  be  saved  and  leave 
in  sorrow  those  who  were  doomed  to  die.  .  .  .  This  poor 
soldier  watched,  unable  to  turn  or  speak  as  the  lanterns  grew 
near.  At  last  the  light  flashed  in  his  face,  and  the  surgeon, 
with  kindly  face,  bent  over  him,  hesitated  a  moment,  shook 
his  head,  and  was  gone,  leaving  the  poor  fellow  alone  with 
death.  He  watched  in  patient  agony  as  they  went  on  from 
one  part  of  the  field  to  another.  As  they  came  back  the 
surgeon  bent  over  him  again.  "  I  believe  if  this  poor  fellow 
lives  to  sundown  to-morrow,  he  will  get  well."  .  .  .  All 
night  long  these  words  fell  into  his  heart  as  the  dews  fell  from 
the  stars  upon  his  lips:  "  If  he  but  lives  till  sundown,  he  will 
get  well."  He  turned  his  weary  head  to  the  east  and 
watched  for  the  coming  sun.  .  .  .  He  watched  it  inch  by 
inch  as  it  climbed  slowly  up  the  heavens.  He  thought  of 
life,  its  hopes  and  ambitions,  its  sweetness  and  its  raptures, 
and  he  fortified  his  soul  against  despair  until  the  sun  had 
reached  high  noon.  It  sloped  down  its  slow  descent,  and 
his  life  was  ebbing  away  and  his  heart  was  faltering,  and  he 
needed  stronger  stimulants  to  make  him  stantl  the  struggle 
until  the  end  of  the  tKi\'  had  cunie.  He  thought  uf  his 
far-off  home,  the  blessed  house  resting  in  tranquil  peace  with 
the  roses  climbing  to  its  door,  and  the  trees  whispering  to  its 
windows,  and  dozing  in  the  sunshine,  the  orchard  and  the 
little  brook  running  like  a  silver  thread  through  the  forest. 


-^oo  HFNRY   IVOODFFN  CRMDY 

"  If  I  live  till  sundown,  I  will  sec  it  again.  I  will  walk 
down  the  shady  lane;  I  will  open  the  battered  gate,  and  the 
mocking-bird  shall  call  to  me  from  the  orchard,  aiul  1  will 
drink  again  at  the  old  mossy  si)ring. " 

Ami  he  thought  of  the  wife  who  had  coini-  from  the  neigh- 
boring farmhouse  ami  juit  Irt  hand  sliyly  in  his,  and  hrougiit 
sweetness  to  his  life  and  light  to  his  home.  "  If  I  live  till 
sundown,  1  shall  look  once  more  into  her  deep  and  loving 
eyes  and  press  her  brown  head  once  more  to  my  aching 
breast. 

And  he  thought  of  the  old  father,  patient  in  prayer,  bend- 
ing lower  and  lower  every  day  under  his  load  of  sorrow  and 
old  age.  "HI  but  live  till  sundown,  I  shall  see  him  again 
and  wind  my  strong  arm  about  his  feeble  body,  and  his  hands 
shall  rest  upon  my  head  while  the  unspeakable  healing  of  his 
blessing  falls  into  my  heart.  " 

And  he  thought  of  the  little  children  that  clambered  on 
his  knees  and  tangled  their  little  hands  into  his  heart-strings, 
making  to  him  such  music  as  the  world  shall  not  equal  or 
heaven  surpass.  "  If  I  live  till  sundown,  they  shall  again  find 
my  parched  lips  with  their  warm  mouths,  and  their  little 
fingers  shall  run  once  more  over  my  face." 

And  he  then  thought  of  his  old  mother,  who  gathered  these 
children  about  her  and  breathed  her  old  heart  afresh  in  their 
brightness  and  attuned  her  old  lips  anew  to  their  prattle,  that 
she  might  live  till  her  big  boy  came  home.  "  If  I  live  till 
sundown,  I  will  see  her  again,  and  I  will  rest  my  head  at  my 
old  place  on  her  knees,  and  weep  away  all  memory  of  this 
desolate  night."  And  the  Son  of  God,  who  had  died  for 
men,  bending  from  the  stars,  put  the  hand  that  had  been 
nailed  to  the  cross  on  ebbing  life  and  held  on  the  stanch 
until  the  sun  went  down  and  the  stars  came  out,  and  shone 
down  in  the  brave  man's  heart  and  blurred  in  his  glistening 
eyes,  and  the  lanterns  of  the  surgeons  came  and  he  was  taken 
from  death  to  life. 

The   v.-orld   is   a  battle-field   strewn    with   the    wrecks    of 


THE  SOUTH  AND  HER   PROBLEMS  291 

government  and  institutions,  of  tlieories  and  of  faiths  that 
have  gone  down  in  the  ravage  of  years.  On  this  field  lies  the 
South,  sown  with  her  problems.  Upon  the  field  swing  the 
lanterns  of  God.  Amid  the  carnage  walks  the  Great 
Physician.  Over  the  South  He  bends.  "  If  ye  but  live  until 
to-morrow's  sundown,  ye  shall  endure,  my  countrymen." 
Let  us  for  her  sake  turn  our  faces  to  the  east  and  watch  as  the 
soldier  watched  for  the  coming  sun.  Let  us  stanch  her 
wounds  and  hold  steadfast.  The  sun  mounts  the  skies.  As 
it  descends  to  us,  minister  to  her  and  stand  constant  at  her 
side  for  the  sake  of  our  children,  and  of  generations  unborn 
that  shall  suffer  if  she  fails.  And  when  the  sun  has  gone 
down  and  the  day  of  her  probation  has  ended,  and  the  stars 
have  rallied  her  heart,  the  lanterns  shall  be  swung  over  the 
field  and  the  Great  Physician  shall  lead  her  up,  from  trouble 
into  content,  from  suffering  into  peace,  from  death  to 
life.    .   .    . 

As  I  think  of  it,  a  vision  of  surpassing  beauty  unfolds  to 
my  eyes.  I  see  a  South,  the  home  of  fifty  millions  of  people, 
who  rise  up  every  day  to  call  from  blessed  cities,  vast  hives 
of  industry  and  of  thrift;  her  country-sides  the  treasures  from 
which  their  resources  are  drawn ;  her  streams  vocal  with 
whirring  spindles;  her  valleys  tranquil  in  the  white  and  gold 
of  the  harvest;  her  mountains  showering  down  the  music  of 
bells,  as  her  slow-moving  flocks  and  herds  go  forth  from  their 
folds;  her  rulers  honest  and  her  people  loving,  and  her  homes 
happy  and  their  hearthstones  bright,  and  their  waters  still, 
and  their  pastures  green,  and  her  conscience  clear;  her 
wealth  diffused  and  poor-houses  empty,  her  churches  earnest 
and  all  creeds  lost  in  the  gospel.  Peace  and  sobriety  walk- 
ing hand  in  hand  through  her  borders;  honor  in  her  homes; 
uprightness  in  her  midst;  plenty  in  her  fields;  straight  and 
simple  faith  in  the  hearts  of  her  sons  and  daughters:  her  two 
races  walking  together  in  peace  and  contentment;  sunshine 
everywhere  and  all  the  time,  and  night  falling  on  her  as  frorn 
the  wings  of  an  unseen  dove, 


3Q;  .-ISOS)  MiH  s 


THH    VICTOR    OI-    MARENGO 

AniinYMOI's.  Hascd  on  an  acounit  of  tlio  battle  nf  M.iroiijjn,  hy  J.  '!'. 
IlcidlfV,  in  "  Najxilfoii  and  His  M.irs-lials,"  \\>\.  I,  ]llll)li^ll<•ll,  in 
1S46.  liy  Haker  &  Scribncr.  Ni-w  Vurk,  N.  V. 

Naiu)l«.'i>n  was  sittin.i;  in  his  tent;  luforL-  liim  lay  a  iiiap  <if 
Italy.  He  took  four  pins  and  stuck  them  u|);  measured, 
nioveii  the  ])ins.  and  measured  ap:ain.  "Xow, '"  said  he, 
"  that  is  rij^ht ;  I  will  capture  him  there!  "  "  Who,  sir?  " 
said  an  ofl'icer.  "  ]\lilas,  tlie  old  fox  of  Austria.  He  will 
retire  from  (lenoa,  pass  Turin,  and  fall  back  on  Alexandria. 
I  shall  cross  tlic  Po,  meet  him  on  the  ])lains  of  Laconia,  and 
conquer  him  there,"  and  the  finger  of  the  "child  of 
destiny"  pointed  to  Marengo. 

Two  months  later  the  memorable  campaign  of  1800  began. 
The  20th  of  May  saw  Napoleon  on  the  heights  of  St.  Bernard. 
The  2 2d,  Larmes,  with  the  army  of  Genoa,  held  Padua.  So 
far,  all  had  been  well  with  Napoleon.  He  had  compelled  the 
Austrians  to  take  the  position  he  desired;  reduced  the  army 
from  one  hundred  and  twenty  to  forty  thousand  men  ; 
dispatched  Murat  to  the  right,  and  June  14th  moved  forward 
to  consummate  his  masterl_v  plan. 

But  God  threatened  to  overthrow  his  scheme!  A  little 
rain  had  fallen  in  the  Alps,  and  the  Po  could  not  be  crossed 
in  time.  The  battle  was  begun.  iNIilas,  pushed  to  the  wall, 
resolved  to  cut  his  way  out;  and  Napoleon  reached  the  field 
to  see  Larmes  beaten — Champeaux  dead  —  Desaix  still 
charging  old  Milas,  with  his  Austrian  phalanx  at  Marengo, 
till  the  consular  guard  gave  way,  and  the  well-planned  vic- 
tory was  a  terrible  defeat.  Just  as  the  day  was  lost,  Desaix, 
the  boy  general,  sweeping  across  the  field  at  the  head  of  liis 
cavaln',  halted  on  the  eminence  where  stood  Napoleon. 
There  was  in  the  corps  a  drummer-boy,  a  gamin  whom 
Desaix  had  picked  up  in  the  streets  of  Paris.      He  had  fol- 


THE   yiCTOR   or  MARENGO  293 

lowed  tlic  victorious  eagles  of  France  in  the  campaigns  of 
l^gypt  and  Austria. 

As  the  columns  halted,  Napoleon  shouted  to  him:  "  Beat 
a  retreat!"  The  boy  did  not  stir.  "Gamin,  beat  a 
retreat !  ' '  The  boy  stopped,  grasped  his  drumsticks,  and 
said:  "Sir,  I  do  not  know  how  to  beat  a  retreat.  Desaix 
never  taught  me  that.  But  I  can  beat  a  charge.  Oh!  I  can 
beat  a  charge  that  would  make  the  dead  fall  into  line.  I 
beat  that  charge  at  the  Pyramids;  I  beat  that  charge  at 
r^Iount  Tabor;  I  beat  it  again  at  the  bridge  of  Lodi.  ]May 
I  beat  it  here  .-"  " 

Napoleon  turned  to  Desaix,  and  said:  "  We  are  beaten; 
what  shall  we  do  .''  "  "  Do  .'  Beat  them!  It  is  only  three 
o'clock,  and  there  is  time  to  win  a  victory  yet.  Up!  gamin, 
the  charge!  Beat  the  old  charge  of  IMount  Tabor  and 
Lodi!"  A  moment  later  the  corps,  following  the  sword- 
gleam  of  Desaix,  and  keeping  step  to  the  furious  roll  of  the 
gamin's  drum,  swept  down  on  the  host  of  Austria.  They 
drove  the  first  line  back  on  the  second,  both  on  the  third, 
and  there  they  died.  Desaix  fell  at  the  first  volley,  but  the 
line  never  faltered.  And  as  the  smoke  cleared  away,  the 
gamin  was  seen  in  front  of  his  line  marching  right  on  and 
still  beating  the  furious  charge.  Over  the  dead  and 
wounded,  over  breastworks  and  fallen  foe,  over  cannon 
belching  forth  their  fire  of  death,  he  led  the  way  to  victory, 
and  the  fifteen  days  in  Italy  were  ended. 

To-day  men  point  to  Marengo  in  wonder.  They  admire 
the  power  and  foresight  that  so  skillfully  planned  the  battle; 
but  they  forget  that  Napoleon  failed,  and  that  a  general  only 
thirty  }'ears  of  age  made  a  victory  of  a  defeat.  They  forget 
that  a  gamin  of  Paris  put  to  shame  "  the  child  of  destiny." 


294  liiiii.AM  rir.Rci:  i-kye 


THE    PROTECTION    Ol-    AMERICANS   IN    ARMENIA 

Hy  Wii.i.iAM  I'lKKCi.  Kkyk.  Lawyer;  Momhir  of  Conji;ross   from  Maine, 
1871-81;  Scii.itor,  iSSi-   .      Horn  in  I.c\vi>ton.  Maine,   1S31. 

From  .1  speech  m.nlc  111  the  Senate,  January  z^,  181/)  ;  tlic  Senate  liaviiijj  under  con- 
sideration resoUitiuns  relative  tu  the  massacre  of  Cliristians  in  Armenia. 

The  good  people  of  the  United  States  have  planted  in 
Turkey  over  six  million  dollars  for  a  single  purpose,  to  im- 
prove and  better  the  condition  of  the  people  of  that  country. 
They  have  erected  as  fine  colleges  as  there  arc  in  the  ^vorld. 
They  have  been  maintained  by  American  money.  They  have 
educated  thousands  and  hundreds  of  thousaiuis  of  Turks,  or 
Armenians  who  are  subject  to  Turkey.  It  has  been  a  work 
of  wonderful  beneficence,  a  work  which  has  had  marvelous 
success,  and  yet  it  is  stopped  absolutely  to-day.  That 
American  capital  is  now  held  up;  it  cannot  do  an  ounce  of 
work.  At  Harpoot  the  American  colleges  were  burned  down 
and  the  Americans  themselves  were  compelled  to  flue  for 
their  lives. 

I  do  not  know  how  far  tlie  United  States  of  America  can 
interfere  in  Turkey.  I  am  in  favor  of  these  resolutions  as 
an  expression  of  our  opinion  upon  the  awful  tragedies  there; 
but  if  1  had  my  way,  after  the  ])Owcrs  of  Europe  have  waited 
now  a  solid  year  looking  each  other  in  the  face  with  sus- 
picious eyes  and  neither  one  daring  to  make  a  move  lest  the 
other  shall  receive  a  benefit — I  say  if  I  had  my  way,  I  would 
have  Congress  memorialize  Russia  and  say  to  her:  "Take 
Armenia  into  your  possession,  protect  the  lives  of  those 
Christians  there,  and  the  United  States  of  America  will  stand 
behind  you  with  all  of  its  power."  That,  sir,  is  the 
memorial  and  resolution  I  would  have  passed. 

Sir,  American  citizens  are  suffering  there.  American  lives 
and  American  property  are  being  interfered  with  day  by  day 
in  the  interior  of  Armenia,  I  know  that  Americans  are  com- 
pelled to  flee  for  their  lives.  I  know  that  they  do  not  receive 
the  protection  of  the  Turkish  Government  there. 


THE  PROTECTION   OF  /AMERICANS   IN  ARMENIA    295 

Now,  so  far  as  American  citizens  are  concerned,  I  would 
protect  them  at  any  cost.  We  never  agreed  that  the 
Dardanelles  should  be  closed  to  us.  There  cannot  be  found 
a  line  in  the  policy  of  the  United  States  of  America  which 
ever  permitted  any  great  navigable  water  to  be  closed  to  our 
ships;  not  one.  On  the  contrary,  we  have  been  ready  to  go 
to  war  at  any  time  to  keep  navigable  waters  open  to  our 
ships.  We  have  given  no  assent  to  the  agreement  of  the 
concerting  nations  over  there  that  the  Dardanelles  shall  be 
closed.  If  it  was  necessary  to  protect  American  citizens  and 
their  property,  I  would  order  United  States  war-ships,  in 
spite  of  foreign  agreements,  to  sail  up  the  Dardanelles  and 
plant  themselves  before  Constantinople,  and  there  demand 
that  American  citizens  should  have  the  protection  they  are 
entitled  to. 

Mr.  President,  I  think  one  of  the  grandest  things  in  the 
history  of  Great  Britain,  and  one  thing  for  which  I  admire 
her,  is  that  she  does  protect  her  citizens  anywhere  and  every- 
where, under  all  circumstances.  Her  mighty  power  is  put 
forth  for  their  relief  and  protection,  and  it  is  admirable.  I 
do  not  wonder  that  a  British  citizen  loves  his  country. 
Why,  that  little  incident,  which  all  of  you  are  familiar  with, 
is  a  marvelous  illustration  of  that.  The  King  of  Abyssinia 
took  a  British  citizen  by  the  name  of  Campbell,  about  twenty 
years  ago,  carried  him  up  into  the  fortress  of  Magdala,  on 
the  heights  of  a  lofty  mountain,  and  put  him  into  a  dungeon 
without  cause.  It  took  six  months  for  Great  Britain  to  find 
that  out,  and  then  she  demanded  his  immediate  release. 
King  Theodore  refused  to  release  him.  In  less  than  ten  days 
after  the  refusal  was  received,  three  thousand  British  soldiers 
and  five  thousand  sepoys  were  on  board  ships  of  war  sailing 
for  the  coast.  When  they  arrived  they  were  disembarked, 
were  marched  seven  hundred  miles  over  swamp  and  morass 
under  a  burning  sun,  then  up  the  mountain  to  the  very 
heights,  in  front  of  the  frowning  dungeon,  and  then  they 
gave  battle.     They  battered  down  the  iron  gates,  the  stone 


ro6  .^n.4rTi:D 

walls.  King  Tlicodore  hail  kilkil  liinisilf  with  his  own 
pistol.  Then  thov  reached  down  into  the  dungeon  with  that 
English  hanil.  lifted  out  from  it  that  one  British  citizen, 
carried  hin>  ilown  the  mountain  heights,  across  the  same 
swamjis  and  morass,  landed  him  on  the  whitc;-winged  ships 
and  spctl  him  away  to  liis  honu'  in  safety.  That  cost  Great 
Britain  twenty-live  million  ditllars  and  made  (leneral  Napier 
Lord  Napier  of  Magdala. 

Now.  sir,  that  was  a  great  thing  for  a  countr}-  ti)  dt).  A 
country  that  has  an  eye  that  can  sec  away  across  an  ocean, 
away  across  the  many  miles  of  land,  up  into  the  mountain 
heights,  down  into  a  darksome  dungeon,  one,  just  one  of 
her  thirty-eight  million  people,  and  then  has  an  arm  long 
enough  and  strong  enough  to  reach  across  the  same  ocean, 
across  the  same  swamps  and  marshes,  up  the  same  mountain 
heights,  down  into  the  same  dungeon  and  pluck  him  out  and 
carry  him  home  to  his  own  country  a  free  man — in  God's 
name  who  will  not  die  for  a  country  that  will  do  that  ? 

Well,  IMr.  President,  our  country  will  do  it,  and  our 
country  ought  to  do  it.  All  that  1  ask  of  this  grand  Republic 
of  ours  is  that  it  shall  model  itself  after  Great  Britain,  if  it 
pleases,  in  this  one  thing,  that  the  life  of  an  American  citizen 
.shall  be  protected  wherever  he  may  be,  whether  in  Great 
Britain  or  in  Turkey,  and  in  no  other  thing  whatsoever. 

NOT   GUILTY 

(.Adapted  I 

It  was  a  sultr}-  noon,  and  in  the  Jefferson ville  court-house 
a  murder  trial  was  in  progress.  The  prisoner,  a  strongly 
built  and  middle-aged  negro,  was  evidently  not  impressed 
by  any  sense  of  peril,  though  already  a  clear  ca.sc  of  murder 
had  been  proved  against  him,  and  only  his  statement  and  the 
argument  remained.  No  testimony  had  been  offered  for  the 
prisoner.  A  man  had  been  stabbed;  had  fallen  dead,  his 
hands  clasped  over  the  wound.  From  beneath  this  hand, 
>vhcn  convulsively  opened,  ji  knife  had  fallen,   which  the 


NOT   GUILTY  297 

prisoner's  wife  seized  and  concealed.  So  much  had  been 
proved  by  the  State's  witnesses. 

The  prisoner  took  the  stand  to  make  his  statement.  He 
declared  that  he  had  killed  the  deceased  in  self-defense,  that 
the  knife  which  fell  from  the  relaxing  hand  was  the  dead 
man's.  He  told  the  story  simply  and  quietly;  and  as  he 
began  it  a  tall  thick  set  gentleman,  with  iron-gray  hair  and 
clad  in  a  gray  suit,  entered  the  room  and  stood  silently  by 
the  door.  As  the  prisoner  resumed  his  seat,  the  newcomer 
entered  within  the  rail  and  sat  down  near  him.  The  solicitor 
then  arose  and  stated  his  case  in  a  few  cold  words.  This 
man  had  stabbed  another  wantonly.  If  the  knife  was  the 
property  of  the  deceased,  why  was  it  not  produced  in  court .'' 
The  prisoner's  wife  had  picked  it  up.  He  passed  the  case 
to  the  jury,  and  the  judge  was  preparing  to  deliver  his  charge 
when  the  old  gentleman  in  gray  rose  to  his  feet. 

"If  it  please  your  Honor."  he  said,  "the  prisoner  is 
entitled  to  the  closing  argument,  and,  in  the  absence  of  the 
other  counsel,  I  beg  you  will  mark  my  name  for  the 
defense."  "  INIr.  Clerk,"  said  the  court,  "mark  General 
Robert  Thomas  for  the  defense. "  The  silence  was  absolute; 
the  jurymen  stirred  in  tneir  seats;  something  new  was 
coming.  Only  this  old  man,  grim,  gray,  and  majestically 
defiant,  stood  between  the  negro  and  the  grave.  Suddenly 
the  lips  of  the  general  openea,  and  he  said  with  quick  but 
quiet  energy:  "  The  knife  tnai  was  found  by  the  dead  man's 
side  was  his  own.  He  had  arawn  it  before  he  was  stabbed. 
Ben  Thomas  is  a  brave  man,  a  strong  man ;  he  would  never 
have  used  a  weapon  upon  him  unarmed.  A  brave  man  who 
is  full  of  strength  never  draws  a  weapon  to  repel  a  simple 
assault.  The  defendant  drew  when  he  saw  a  knife  in  the 
hand  of  his  foe,  not  from  fear,  but  to  equalize  the  combat. 
Why  do  I  say  he  was  brave  ?  Every  man  upon  the  jury 
shouldered  his  musket  during  the  war.  Some  of  you  were 
perhaps  at  Gettysburg;  I  was  there  too."  A  murmur  of 
applause  ran  around  the  "oom ;  the  old  man's  war  record 


29^  .-tO.tPTL'l) 

was  a  houschoKl  legend.  •'  I  aiul  the  only  broliic  r  tliat  Clod 
ever  gave  me.  1  well  remember  that  (iglit.  The  enemy  met 
our  charges  with  a  courage  and  a  grit  that  could  not  be 
shaken.  Line  after  line  melted  away  during  those  days,  and 
at  last  came  Pickett's  charge.  As  that  magnificent  command 
rusheil  in,  a  negro  man,  a  captain's  body-servant,  stood 
behinil  it,  shading  liis  eyes  with  his  hands  and  waiting. 

"  Vou  know  the  result.  Out  of  that  vortex  of  llame  and 
that  storm  of  lead  antl  iron  a  haiulful  drifteil  back.  From 
one  to  another  this  man  of  black  skin  ran;  tlien  turned  and 
followed  in  the  trail  of  tiie  charge.  On,  on  he  went,  gone 
one  moment  and  in  sight  the  next,  on,  up  to  the  flaming 
cannon  themselves.  Then  there  he  stooped  and  lifted  a 
form  from  the  ground;  and  then,  stumbling,  staggering 
under  his  load,  made  his  way  back  across  that  field  of  death, 
until,  meeting  him  half-way,  I  took  the  burden  myself  from 
the  hero  and  bore  it  myself  to  safety.  That  burden  w^as  the 
senseless  form  of  my  brother" — here  he  paused,  and  walked 
rapidly  towards  the  prisoner,  his  arm  raised  on  high,  his 
voice  ringing  like  a  trumpet, — "gashed  and  bleeding  and 
mangled,  but  alive,  thank  God!  And  the  man  who  bore 
him  out,  who  brought  him  to  me  in  his  arms  as  a  mother 
would  a  sick  child,  himself  torn  by  a  fragment  of  a  shell 
until  the  great  heart  was  almost  dropping  from  his  breast, 
that  man,  O  my  friends,  sits  under  my  hand.  See  if  I 
speak  not  the  truth." 

He  tore  open  the  prisoner's  shirt,  and  laid  bare  his  breast 
on  which  streamed  the  silent  splendors  of  the  afternoon  sun; 
a  great  ragged  scar  marked  it  from  left  to  right.  "  Look," 
he  cried,  "  and  bless  the  sight,  for  that  scar  was  won  by  a 
slave  in  an  hour  that  tried  the  courage  of  free  men  and  put 
to  its  highest  test  the  best  manhood  of  the  South.  No  man 
who  wins  such  wounds  can  thrust  a  knife  into  an  unarmed 
assailant.  I  have  come  seventy  miles  in  my  old  age  to  say 
it." 

It  may  have  been  contrary  to  the  evidence,  but  the  jury 


SPARTACUS    TO    THE   GLADIATORS  299 

without  leaving  their  seats  returned  a  verdict  of  "not 
guilty";  and  the  solicitor,  who  bore  a  scar  on  his  face, 
smiled  as  he  received  it. 


SPARTACUS   TO  THE   GLADIATORS 

By  Elijah  Kellogg,  Preacher,  Author.     Born  in  Portland,  Me.,  1813. 

It  had  been  a  day  of  triumph  in  Capua.  Lentulus,  return- 
ing with  victorious  eagles,  had  amused  the  populace  with  the 
sports  of  the  amphitheater  to  an  extent  hitherto  unknown 
even  in  that  luxurious  city.  The  shcjuts  of  revelry  had  died 
away;  the  roar  of  the  lion  had  ceased;  the  last  loiterer  had 
retired  from  the  banquet,  and  the  lights  in  the  palace  of  the 
victor  were  extinguished.  The  moon,  piercing  the  tissue  of 
fleecy  clouds,  silvered  the  dewdrop  on  the  corselet  of  the 
Roman  sentinel,  and  tipped  the  dark  waters  of  Volturnus 
with  wavy,  tremulous  light.  It  was  a  night  of  holy  calm, 
when  the  zephyr  sways  the  young  spring  leaves,  and  whispers 
among  the  hollow  reeds  its  dreamy  music.  No  sound  was 
heard  but  the  last  sob  of  some  weary  wave,  telling  its  story 
to  the  smooth  pebbles  of  the  beach,  and  then  all  was  still  as 
the  breast  when  the  spirit  has  departed. 

In  the  deep  recesses  of  the  amphitheater  a  band  of 
gladiators  were  crowded  together, — their  muscles  still 
knotted  with  the  agony  of  conflict,  the  foam  upon  their  lips, 
and  the  scowl  of  battle  yet  lingering  upon  their  brows, — 
when  Spartacus,  rising  in  the  midst  of  that  grim  assemblage, 
thus  addressed  them  : 

"  Ye  call  me  chief,  and  ye  do  well  to  call  him  chief  who, 
for  twelve  long  years,  has  met  upon  the  arena  every  shape  ol 
man  or  beast  that  the  broad  Empire  of  Rome  could  furnish, 
and  yet  never  has  lowered  his  arm.  And  if  there  be  one 
among  you  who  can  say  that,  ever,  in  public  fight  or  private 
brawl,  my  actions  did  belie  my  tongue,  let  him  step  forth 
and  say  it.  If  there  be  three  in  all  your  throng  dare  face  me 
on  the  bloody  sand,  let  them  come  on! 


300  HI  II.  in  Kriiocc 

Wt  1  w.is  not  always  tlius,  a  hirril  butcluT,  a  savage 
chief  of  savage  nun.  My  father  was  a  reverent  man,  wlu) 
fearcil  great  Jupiter,  and  l)rougl)t  to  tlie  rural  deities  his 
offerings  of  fruits  and  (lowers.  lie  dwelt  among  the  vine- 
clad  rocks  and  olive  groves  at  the  foot  of  llelieon.  My 
early  life  ran  quiet  as  the  brook  by  which  I  sported.  1  was 
taught  to  prune  the  vine,  to  tend  the  Hock;  and  then,  at 
noon,  1  gathered  my  sherp  huneath  the  shade,  and  played 
upon  the  shepherd's  llutL-.  1  IkuI  a  friend,  the  son  of  our 
neighbor;  we  led  our  lloeks  to  tlu-  same  pasture,  and  sharetl 
together  our  rustic  meal. 

"  One  evening,  after  the  sheep  were  folded,  and  we  were 
all  seated  beneath  the  myrtle  that  shaded  our  cottage,  my 
grandsire,  an  old  man,  was  telling  of  Marathon  and  Leuctra, 
and  how,  in  ancient  times,  a  little  band  of  Spartans,  in  a 
defile  of  the  mountains,  withstood  a  whole  army.  I  did  not 
then  know  what  war  meant;  but  my  cheeks  burned.  I  knew 
not  why;  and  I  clasped  the  knees  of  that  venerable  man,  till 
my  mother,  parting  the  hair  from  off  my  brow,  kissed  my 
throbbing  temples,  and  bade  me  go  to  rest,  and  think  no 
more  of  those  old  tales  and  savage  wars. 

"  That  very  night  the  Romans  landed  (jn  our  shore,  and 
the  clash  of  steel  was  heard  within  our  cfuiet  vale.  1  saw 
the  breast  that  had  nourished  me  trampled  by  the  iron  hoof 
of  the  war-horse;  the  bleeding  body  of  my  father  flung  amid 
the  blazing  rafters  of  our  dwelling.  To-day  I  killed  a  man 
in  the  arena,  and  when  I  broke  his  helmet-clasps,  behold! 
he  was  my  friend!  He  knew  me, — smiled  faintly, — gasped, 
— and  died;  the  same  sweet  smile  that  I  had  marked  upon 
his  face  when,  in  adventurous  boyhood,  we  scaled  some  lofty 
cliff  to  pluck  the  first  ripe  grapes,  and  bear  them  home  in 
childish  triumph.  I  told  the  praetor  he  was  my  friend,  noble 
and  brave,  and  I  begged  his  body,  that  I  might  burn  it  upon 
the  funeral-pile,  and  mourn  over  him.  Ay,  on  my  knees, 
amid  the  dust  and  blood  of  the  arena,  I  begged  that  boon, 
while  all  the  Roman  maids  and  matrons,   and  those  holy 


SPARTACUS    TO    THE   GLADIATORS  301 

virgins  tiiey  call  vestals,  and  the  rabble,  shouted  in  mockery, 
deeming  it  rare  sport,  forsooth,  to  see  Rome's  fiercest 
gladiator  turn  pale,  and  tremble  like  a  very  child  before  that 
piece  of  bleeding  clay;  but  the  prastor  drew  back  as  if  I  were 
pollution,  and  sternly  said,  '  Let  the  carrion  rot!  There  are 
no  noble  men  but  Romans!  '  And  he,  deprived  of  funeral 
rites,  must  wander,  a  hapless  ghost,  beside  the  waters  of 
that  sluggish  river,  and  look — and  look — ^and  look  in  vain 
to  the  bright  Elysian  Fields  where  dwell  his  ancestors  and 
noble  kindred.  And  so  must  you,  and  so  must  I,  die  like 
dogs! 

"  O  Rome!  Rome!  thou  hast  been  a  tender  nurse  to  me! 
Ay,  thou  hast  given  to  that  poor,  gentle,  timid  shepherd-lad, 
who  never  knew  a  harsher  sound  than  a  flute-note,  muscles 
of  iron  and  a  heart  of  flint;  taught  him  to  drive  the  sword 
through  rugged  brass  and  plaited  mail,  and  warm  it  in  the 
marrow  of  his  foe!  to  gaze  into  the  glaring  eyeballs  of  the 
fierce  Numidian  lion,  even  as  a  smooth-cheeked  boy  upon  a 
laughing  girl.  And  he  shall  pay  thee  back  till  thy  yellow 
Tiber  is  red  as  frothing  wine,  and  in  its  deepest  ooze  thy  life- 
blood  lies  curdled! 

"  Ye  stand  here  now  like  giants,  as  ye  are!  the  strength 
of  brass  in  your  toughened  sinews;  but  to-morrow  some 
Roman  Adonis,  breathing  sweet  odors  from  his  curly  locks, 
shall  come,  and  with  his  lily  fingers  pat  your  brawny 
shoulders,  and  bet  his  sesterces  upon  your  blood!  Hark! 
Hear  ye  yon  lion  roaring  in  his  den  .'*  'Tis  three  days  since 
he  tasted  meat;  but  to-morrow  he  shall  break  his  fast  upon 
your  flesh ;   and  ye  shall  be  a  dainty  meal  for  him. 

"  If  ye  are  brutes,  then  stand  here  like  fat  oxen  waiting 
for  the  butcher's  knife;  if  ye  are  men,  follow  me!  strike 
down  yon  sentinel,  and  gain  the  mountain-passes,  and  there 
do  bloody  work  as  did  your  sires  at  old  Thermopylae!  Is 
Sparta  dead  .?  Is  the  old  Grecian  spirit  frozen  in  your  veins, 
that  ye  do  crouch  and  cower  like  base-born  slaves  beneath 
your  master's  lash.''     O  comrades!    warriors!   Thracians!  if 


30a  I.4MFS   Gll.LESriF   Rl  .-ilNF. 

we  must  fipht.  let  us  fij^flit  for  ourselves;  if  \vc  must  shiuglUcr, 
lot  us  slaughter  our  oppressors;  if  we  nuist  ilie,  Kt  us  die 
under  the  open  sky,  by  the  bright  waters,  in  noble,  honor- 
able battle." 


NEW    ENGLAND    CHARACTER 

By  Jamks  Ciii,LKSriK.  Hi.aink,  Journalist,  Statesman,  Author;  iMi-mbcr 
of  Congress  from  Maine,  1S63-76;  Senator,  1876-81;  Secretary  of 
State,  1881,  1SS0-1892.  Horn  in  West  Brownsville,  Penn.,  1830; 
died  in  Washington,  D.  C,  1893. 

Taken  from  a  sjieecli  made  at  a  banquet  of  the  New  England  Society  in  the  City  of 
New  York,  December  23,  1878. 

Mr.  President,  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  in  any  presence 
that  in  the  settlement  of  this  continent  and  the  shaping  and 
moulding  of  its  institutions  the  leading  place,  the  chief 
merit,  belongs  to  New  England.  Why,  every  chapter  of  its 
history  is  weighty  with  momentous  events.  A  small  number 
came  in  1620;  there  was  no  immigration  to  speak  of  till 
1630;  there  was  none  after  1640.  And  the  twenty-one  thou- 
sand men  that  came  in  those  brief  years  are  the  progenitors 
of  a  race  that  includes  one-third  of  the  people  of  the  United 
States  of  America.  They  are  the  progenitors  of  a  race  of 
people  twice  as  numerous  as  all  who  spoke  the  English 
language  in  the  world  when  they  came  to  these  shores. 

The  tyrannical  father  of  Frederick  the  Great  said  to  his 
tutor:  "Instruct  this  young  boy  in  history;  do  not  dwell 
much  on  the  ancients,  but  let  him  know  everything  that  has 
happened  in  the  last  one  hundred  and  fifty  years."  And  1 
submit  to  you,  Mr.  President,  that  the  great  event  which  has 
happened  in  the  last  one  hundred  and  fifty  years — not  to  go 
back  to  1620,  the  cause  of  which  was  planted  then — has 
been  the  progress  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  in  the  world.  As 
I  have  said,  not  seven  millions  of  people  spoke  the  tongue 
when  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  landed  at  Plymouth;  not  seventeen 
millions  spoke  it  when  the  American  Revolution  was  born. 
In  this  one  hundred  years — mark  it  well — great  has  been  the 


NEIV  ENGLAND   CHARACTER.  303 

progress  with  other  nations.  The  German  Empire  has  been 
reformed,  and  is  stronger  and  firmer  than  it  ever  existed 
before;  Russia,  springing  from  semi-barbarism,  has  come  to 
be  a  great  and  first-class  power;  Italy  has  been  born  again, 
and  promises  something  of  its  ancient  grandeur;  France  has 
fallen  and  risen  again,  and  fallen  and  again  risen  under  the 
aid  and  inspiration  of  republican  energy  and  patriotism. 
And  yet,  with  all  this  progress  of  all  these  countries,  the  one 
great  fact  of  the  last  hundred  years  is  that  when  the  Revolu- 
tion of  the  American  colonies  was  fought,  not  seventeen 
million  spoke  the  English  tongue,  and  to-day  one  hundred 
million  speak  it. 

We  are  in  the  habit  of  deploring  the  hardships  of  the  men 
who  settled  New  England,  and  in  deploring  their  hardships 
we  are  in  the  habit  of  alluding  to  them  as  a  poor  and  friend- 
less and  downcast  race  of  men.  They  were  anything  else. 
They  had  the  nerve  and  courage  to  endure  hardship.  But 
they  were  a  class  of  men  the  like  of  which  never  before  and 
•never  since  emigrated  from  any  land.  They  were  men  of 
intelligence  and  learning;  they  were  men  of  property.  They 
were  men  of  education  and  large  experience  in  affairs;  they 
were  men  who  had  in  the  literature  of  that  day  Milton  and 
Locke  and  Lightfoot;  they  were  men  who  had  in  the  minis- 
try John  Robinson  and  Brewster  and  Davenport;  they  were 
men  who  had  in  statesmanship  Cromwell  and  Hampden  and 
Pym ;  they  were  men  who,  in  all  the  great  departments  of 
civil  polity  and  in  all  the  great  features  of  personal  and  indi- 
vidual character  at  that  day,  led  the  van  in  the  English  race. 
And  when  we  wonder  at  what  has  been  done  in  New  England 
we  wonder  without  knowledge,  for  those  men  brought  with 
them  all  the  elements  of  success  that  has'since  crowned  their 
efforts.  And  they  brought  with  them  one  thing  which  has 
stuck  pretty  well  to  the  end  with  them  and  their  descendants, 
and  that  was  the  belief  that  if  you  set  a  principle  that  is 
founded  on  truth  in  motion  it  will  go  through.  They 
believed,  in  the  language  of  one  of  their  most  eloquent  men, 


304  THO.M.-IS    h'R/fNClS   M/.-fCJ/rK 

that  an  army  of  juinciplos  will  jn-nctratc  wluro  an  anny  oi 
men  cannot  enter.  The  Rliine  cannot  sto]^  it  nor  the  ocean 
arrest  its  progress.  It  will  march  \o  tlie  horizon  of  the 
work),  and  it  will  comiuer. 


MEAGHER'S    DEFENSE 

Hy  Thomas  Francis  Mf.ac.iik.r  (.Mil'licr),  Irish  Orator,  r.rii,':nJicr-Gcn- 
cral  ill  the  Unitoii  Slates  Army.  IWii  in  W.itcrfonl,  Ireland,  1S23; 
died  near  Furt  Henton,  Montana,  1867. 

In  October,  1848,  after  the  passage  of  the  treason-felony  act  in  Ireland, 
Meagher  was  convicted  of  treason  and  sentcnccfl  to  death.  "The 
sentence  was  afterwartl  commuted  to  banishment  for  life,  and  on  July  9, 
1849.  he  was  transported  to  Van  Diemen's  Land,  but  he  escaped  in  1852 
and  took  refuge  in  the  United  States." 

A  jury  of  my  countrymen  have  found  me  guilty  of  the 
crime  for  which  I  ."^tood  indicted.  For  this  I  entertain  not 
the  sliglitest  feeling  of  resentment  towards  them.  Influenced, 
as  thev  must  have  been,  by  the  charge  of  the  Lord  Chief 
Justice,  they  could  have  found  no  other  verdict.  What  of 
that  charge  .''  Any  strong  observations  on  it  I  feel  sincerely 
would  ill  befit  the  solemnity  of  this  scene;  but  I  would 
earnestly  beseech  of  you,  my  Lord, — vou  who  preside  on 
that  bench, — when  the  i)assions  and  prejudices  of  this  hour 
have  passed  away,  to  appeal  to  your  own  conscience,  and  to 
ask  of  it,  was  your  charge  as  it  ought  to  have  been,  impartial 
and  indifferent  between  the  subject  and  the  crown  ? 

I\Iy  Lords,  you  may  deem  this  language  unbecoming  in 
me,  and  perhaps  it  will  seal  my  fate.  But  I  am  here  to  speak 
the  truth,  whatever  it  may  cost;  I  am  here  to  regret  nothing 
I  have  ever  done, — to  retract  nothing  I  have  ever  .said.  I 
am  here  to  crave,  with  no  lying  lij),  the  life  I  consecrate  to 
the  liberty  of  my  country.  Far  from  it,  even  here — here, 
where  the  thief,  the  libertine,  the  murderer,  have  left  their 
footprints  in  the  dust;  here  on  this  spot,  where  the  .shadows 
of  death  surround  me,  and  from  which  I  see  my  early  grave 
in  an  unanointed   soil   opened   to  receive  me, — even  here, 


MEAGHER'S   DEFENSE  305 

encircled  by  these  terrors,  the  hope  which  has  beckoned  me 
to  the  perilous  sea  upon  which  I  have  been  wrecked  still 
consoles,  animates,  enraptures  me. 

No;  I  do  not  despair  of  my  poor  old  country, — her  peace, 
her  liberty,  her  glory.  For  that  country,  I  can  do  no  more 
than  bid  her  hope.  To  lift  this  island  up;  to  make  her  a 
benefactor  to  humanity,  instead  of  being  the  meanest  beggar 
in  the  world;  to  restore  her  to  her  native  powers  and  her 
ancient  constitution, — this  has  been  my  ambition,  and  this 
ambition  has  been  my  crime.  Judged  by  the  law  of  England, 
I  know  this  crime  entails  the  penalty  of  death;  but  the  his- 
tory of  Ireland  explains  this  crime,  and  justifies  it.  Judged 
by  that  history,  I  am  no  criminal, — I  deserve  no  punishment. 
Judged  by  that  history,  the  treason  of  which  I  stand  con- 
victed loses  all  its  guilt,  is  sanctioned  as  a  duty,  will  be 
ennobled  as  a  sacrifice.  With  these  sentiments,  my  Lord,  I 
await  the  sentence  of  the  court. 

Having  done  what  I  felt  to  be  my  duty,  having  spoken 
what  I  felt  to  be  the  truth, — as  I  have  done  on  every  other 
occasion  of  my  short  career, — I  now  bid  farewell  to  the 
country  of  my  birth,  my  passion,  and  my  death;  the  country 
whose  misfortunes  have  invoked  my  sympathies;  whose 
factions  I  have  sought  to  still;  whose  intellect  I  have 
prompted  to  a  lofty  aim ;  whose  freedom  has  been  my  fatal 
dream.  I  offer  to  that  country,  as  a  proof  of  the  love  I  bear 
her,  and  the  sincerity  with  which  I  thought  and  spoke  and 
struggled  for  her  freedom,  the  life  of  a  young  heart,  and  with 
that  life  all  the  hopes,  the  honors,  the  endearments,  of  a 
happy  and  an  honored  home.  Pronounce,  then,  my  Lords, 
the  sentence  which  the  law-s  direct,  and  I  will  be  prepared 
to  hear  it.  I  trust  I  shall  be  prepared  to  meet  its  execution. 
I  hope  to  be  able,  with  a  pure  heart  and  i)erfect  composure, 
to  appear  before  a  higher  tribunal,  a  tribunal  where  a  Judge 
of  infinite  goodness  as  well  as  of  justice  will  preside,  and 
where,  my  Lords,  many,  many  of  the  judgments  of  this  world 
will  be  reversed. 


3o6  li'll.l.l.-(.\f   M.KIM.F.Y 

A    CITIZEN'S    RESPONSIBILITY 

By  William  McKinlky,  Lawyer,  Statesman;  Member  (jf  Congress, 
1S70-00;  (.loveriior  of  Oljio,  1801-95 ;  President  of  tlie  I'nitcd  States, 
1807 — .      Horn  in  Niles,  Ohio,  1843. 

From  A  5i>ecch  delivered  at  Canton,  Ohio,  May  30,  i8<74.  Kcprintcd,  by  permission 
of  the  publishers,  from  "  MclCinlcy's  Masterpieces,"  published  by  L.  C.  Page  &  Co., 
Boston. 

Sumtrr  ami  Aiiiximattox  1  What  a  Hood  i>f  mcjiiorics 
these  names  excite!  How  tliey  come  unbickien  to  every 
soldier  as  he  contemplates  the  great  events  of  the  war!  The 
one  marked  the  beginning,  the  other  the  close,  of  the  great 
struggle.  At  one  the  shot  was  fired  which  threatened  this 
Union  and  the  downfall  of  liberty.  The  other  proclaimed 
peace  and  wrote  in  history  that  the  machinations  which 
inaugurated  war  to  establish  a  government  with  slaverj'  as  its 
corner-stone  had  failed.  The  one  was  the  commencement 
of  a  struggle  which  drenched  the  nation  in  blood  for  four 
years;  the  other  was  its  end  and  the  beginning  of  a  reunited 
country  which  has  lasted  now  for  twenty-nine  years,  and 
which,  God  grant,  may  last  forever  and  forever  more,  blazing 
the  pathway  of  freedom  to  the  races  of  man  everywhere,  and 
loved  by  all  the  peoples  of  the  world!  The  one  marked  the 
wild  rush  of  mad  passion;  the  other  was  the  restoration  of 
the  cool  judgment,  disciplined  by  the  terrible  ordeal  of  four 
years  of  bloody  war.  Patriotism,  justice,  and  righteousness 
triumphed.  The  Republic  v.'nich  God  had  ordained  with- 
stood the  shock  oi  battle,  and  you  and  your  comrades  were 
the  willing  mstruments  in  the  hands  of  that  divine  Power 
that  guides  nations  which  love  and  serve  Him. 

Howells,  thirty-two  years  ago,  expressed  the  simple  and 
sublime  faith  of  the  soldier,  and  the  prophecy  of  the  outcome 
of  the  war,  in  words  which  burn  in  my  soul  whenever  I  pas? 
in  review  the  events  of  that  struggle.      He  said: 

"  Where  are  you  going,  soldiers. 
With  banner,  gun,  and  sword  ?  " 

"We  're  marching  south  to  Canaan — 
To  battle  for  the  Lord  !  " 


TOUSSAINT   L'OUyERTURE  307 

Yes,  the  Lord  took  care  of  us  then.  Will  we  heed  His 
decrees  and  preserve  unimpaired  what  He  permitted  us  to 
win?  Liberty,  my  countrymen,  is  responsibility;  responsi- 
bility is  duty;  duty  is  God's  order,  and  when  faithfully 
obeyed  will  preserve  liberty.  We  need  have  no  fears  of  the 
future  if  we  will  perform  every  obligation  of  duty  and  of 
citizenship.  If  we  lose  the  smallest  share  of  our  freedom, 
we  have  no  one  to  blame  but  ourselves.  This  country  is 
ours — ours  to  govern,  ours  to  guide,  ours  to  enjoy.  We  are 
both  sovereign  and  subject.  All  are  now  free,  subject 
henceforth  to  ourselves  alone.  We  pay  no  homage  to  an 
earthly  throne;  only  to  God  we  bend  the  knee.  The  soldier 
did  his  work  and  did  it  well.  The  present  and  the  future 
are  with  the  citizen,  whose  judgment  in  our  free  country  is 
supreme. 


TOUSSAINT   L'OUVERTURE 

By  Wendell  Phillips,  Lawyer,  Orator.     Born  in  Boston,  Mass.,  1811; 
died  in  Boston,   1884. 

From  a  lecture  delivered  in  New  York  and  Boston,  December,  1861.  Reprinted,  by 
permission  of  the  publishers,  from  "  Speeches,  Lectures,  and  Letters  of  Wendell 
Phillips,"  published  by  Lee  &  Shepard,  Boston. 

If  I  were  to  tell  you  the  story  of  Napoleon,  I  should  take 
it  from  theTips  of  Frenchmen,  who  find  no  language  rich 
enough  to  paint  the  great  captain  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
Were  I  to  tell  you  the  story  of  Washington,  I  should  take  it 
from  your  hearts, — you,  who  think  no  marble  white  enough 
on  which  to  carve  the  name  of  the  Father  of  his  country. 
But  I  am  to  tell  you  the  story  of  a  negro,  Toussaint 
L'Ouverture,  who  has  left  hardly  one  written  line,  I  am  to 
glean  it  from  the  reluctant  testimony  of  his  enemies,  men 
who  despised  him  because  he  was  a  negro  and  a  slave,  hated 
him  because  he  had  beaten  them  in  battle. 

Cromwell  manufactured  his  own  army.  Napoleon,  at  the 
age  of  twenty-seven,  was  placed  at  the  head  of  the  best  troops 


.?o.s  niKPFi.i  run /IPS 

Kuropc  ever  saw.  Cromwell  mvir  saw  an  aiinv  till  1k'  was 
forty;  this  man  never  saw  a  soKlii-r  till  lie  was  ti(t\-.  Crom- 
well manufactured  his  own  army  DUt  of  what?  I'.ii^lish- 
men. — tlie  best  blood  in  l'".uro])e.  (  )ut  of  the  niitidU-  class 
of  l-"nglishmen, — the  best  blootl  of  liie  i>lainl.  Ami  with  it 
he  conquered  what?  Knt|;lishmen,  —  tiuir  rciuals.  'I'liis 
man  manufactureil  his  army  out  of  what  ?  Out  of  what  you 
call  the  despicable  race  of  nej^roes,  debased,  denioralizetl  by 
two  hundred  years  of  slavery,  oni;  humlred  thousand  of  them 
imported  into  the  island  witliin  four  years,  unable  to  speak 
a  dialect  intelligible  even  to  each  other.  Vet  out  of  this 
mixed  and,  as  you  say,  despicable  mass  he  forged  a  thunder- 
bolt, and  hurled  it  at  what  ?  At  the  proudest  blood  in 
I'.urope,  the  Spaniard,  antl  sent  him  home  conquered;  at  the 
most  warlike  blood  in  Kurope,  the  French,  and  put  them 
under  his  feet;  at  the  ])luckiest  blood  in  luirope,  the  English, 
and  they  skulked  home  to  Jamaica.  Now,  if  Cromwell  was 
a  general,  at  least  this  man  was  a  soldier. 

Now,  blue-eyed  Saxon,  proud  of  your  race,  go  back  w  ith 
me  to  the  commencement  of  the  century,  and  select  what 
statesman  you  please.  Let  him  be  either  American  or 
European  ;  let  him  have  a  brain  the  result  of  six  generations 
of  culture;  let  him  have  the  ripest  training  of  university 
routine;  let  him  add  to  it  the  better  education  of  practical 
life;  crown  his  temples  with  the  silver  lucks  of  seventy  years, 
and  show  me  the  man  of  Saxon  lineage  for  whom  his  most 
sanguine  admirer  will  wreathe  a  laurel  rich  as  embittered 
foes  have  placed  on  the  brow  of  this  negro, — rare  military 
skill,  profound  knowledge  of  human  nature,  content  to  blot 
out  all  party  distinctions,  and  trust  a  state  to  the  blood  of 
its  sons, — anticipating  Sir  Robert  Peel  fifty  years,  and  taking 
his  station  by  the  side  of  Roger  Williams,  before  any  English- 
man or  American  had  won  the  right:  and  yet  this  is  the 
record  which  the  history  of  rival  States  makes  up  for  this 
inspired  black  of  St.  Domingo. 

Some  doubt  the  courage  of  the  negro.      Go  to  Ilayti,  and 


PHF.IDIPPIDES  309 

stand  on  those  fifty  tliousand  graves  of  the  best  soldiers 
France  ever  had,  and  ask  them  what  they  think  of  the 
negro's  sword. 

I  would  call  him  Napoleon,  but  Napoleon  made  his  way 
to  empire  over  broken  oaths  and  through  a  sea  of  blood. 
This  man  never  broke  his  word.  I  would  call  him  Cromwell, 
but  Cromwell  was  only  a  soldier,  and  the  state  he  founded 
went  down  with  him  into  his  grave.  I  would  call  him 
Washington,  but  the  great  Virginian  held  slaves.  This  man 
risked  his  empire  rather  than  permit  the  slave-trade  in  the 
humblest  village  of  his  dominions. 

You  think  me  a  fanatic,  for  you  read  history,  not  with 
your  eyes  but  with  your  prejudices.  But  fifty  years  hence, 
when  Truth  gets  a  hearing,  the  Muse  of  history  will  put 
Phocion  for  the  Greek,  Brutus  for  the  Roman,  Hampden  for 
England,  Fayette  for  France,  choose  Washington  as  the 
bright  consummate  flower  of  our  earlier  civilization,  then, 
dipping  her  pen  in  the  sunlight,  will  write  in  the  clear  blue, 
above  them  all,  the  name  of  the  soldier,  the  statesman,  the 
martyr,  Toussaixt  L'Ouverture. 


PHEIDIPPIDES 

By   Robert  Browning,    Poet.     Born   in  Caniberwell.  England,  1812; 
died  in  Venice,  Italy,  18S9. 

When  Athens  was  threatened  by  the  invading  Persians,  she  sent  a 
fleet  messenger  to  Sparta  to  demand  aid  against  a  foreign  foe.  The 
runner,  Pheidippides.  so  says  the  legend,  ran  from  Athens  to  Sparta  and 
back  again,  a  distance  of  three  hundred  miles,  in  two  days  and  two 
nights.      He  returned  to  Athens  with  these  words: 

First  I  salute  this  soil  of  the  blessed,  river  and  rock ! 
Cods    of    my    birthplace,    daemons    and    heroes,    honor    to 
all!   .   .'  . 

Archons  of  Athens,  topped  by  the  tettix,  see,  I  return ! 
See,  'tis  myself  here  standing  alive,  no  specter  that  speaks! 


3 1  o  ROKIIK 7"   /'•A'( ) / 1  \  /,\'(; 

Crowned  with  the  mvrtlc.  ilnl  you  cominaiul  nic,  Athens  and 
you, 

"  Run,   rheidippides,  run  and  race,  reach  Spartii  for  aid! 

Persia  has  come,  we  are  here,  where  is  Slie  ?  "  Your  com- 
mand I  obeyed, 

Kan  and  raced :  like  stul)ble,  some  (k-KI  which  a  lire  runs 
through, 

Was  the  space  between  city  ami  city:  two  days,  two  nights 
did  I  burn 

( )ver  the  hills,  umU-r  the  ilales,  down  ])its  and  up  peaks. 

Into  their  midst  1  broke:   breath  served  but  for  "  Persia  has 

come! 
Persia  bids  Athens  proffer  slaves'-tribute,  water  and  earth; 
Razed  to  the  ground  is  Eretria — but  Athens,  shall  Athens 

sink, 
Drop  into  dust  and  die — the  flower  of  Hellas  utterly  die, 
Die,  with  the  wide  world  spitting  at  Sparta,  the  stupid,  the 

stander-by  ? 
Answer  me  quick,  what  help  ?  "   .    .    . 

Lo,  their  answer  at  last! 

"  Has   Persia   come, — does    Athens    ask    aid, — may   Sparta 

befriend  ?  .   .    . 
Ponder  that  precept  of  old,  '  Xo  warfare,  whatever  the  odds 
In  your  favor,  so  long  as  the  moon,  half-orbed,  is  unable  to 

take 
Full-circle  her  state  in  the  sky!  '      Already  she  rounds  to  it 

fast: 
Athens  must  wait,  patient  as  we — who  judgment  suspend." 

.\thens, — except  for  that  sparkle,  — thy  name,  I  had  mould- 
ered to  ash! 

That  sent  a  blaze  through  my  blood;  off,  off  and  away  was 
I  back. 

Not  one  word  to  waste,  one  look  to  lose  on  the  false  and  the 
vile! 


PHEIDIPPIDES  311 

Yet  "  O  Gods  of  my  land!  "  I  cried,   as  each  hillock  and 

plain, 
Wood   and   stream,    I    knew,    I    named,    rushing  past   them 

again, 
"  Have  ye  kept  faith,  proved  mindful  of  honors  we  paid  you 

erewhile  ?  "   .   .   . 

Such  my  cry  as,  rapid,  I  ran  over  Parnes'  ridge; 

Gully  and  gap,  I  clambered  and  cleared  till,  sudden,  a  bar 

Jutted,  a  stoppage  of  stone  against  me,  blocking  the  way.  .  .  . 

There,  in  the  cool  of  a  cleft,  sat  he — majestical  Pan ! 

Ivy  drooped  wanton,   kissed  his  head,    moss  cushioned  his 

hoof: 
All  the  great  God  was  good  in  the  eyes  grave-kindly — the 

curl 
Carved  on  the  bearded  cheek,  amused  at  a  mortal's  awe. 
As,  under  the  human  trunk,  the  goat-thighs  grand  I  saw. 
"  Halt,  Pheidippides!  " — halt  I  did,  my  brain  of  a  whirl: 
"  Hither  to  me!     Why  pale  in  my  presence  ?  "  he  gracious 

began :  .    .   . 

"  Go,  bid  Athens  take  heart,  laugh  Persia  to  scorn,  have  faith 

In  the  temples  and  tombs!  Go,  say  to  Athens,  '  The  Goat- 
God  saith : 

When  Persia — so  much  as  strews  not  the  soil — is  cast  in  the 
sea. 

Then  praise  Pan  who  fought  in  the  ranks  with  your  most  and 
least. 

Goat-thigh  to  greaved-thigh,  made  one  cause  with  the  free 
and  the  bold!  '  "   .   .   . 

But  enough !     He  was  gone.     If  I  ran  hitherto — 

Be  sure  that,  the  rest  of  my  journey,  I  ran  no  longer,  but 
flew. 

Here  am  I  back.  Praise  Pan,  we  stand  no  more  on  the 
razor's  edge! 

Pan  for  Athens,  Pan  for  me!     I  too  have  a  guerdon  rare! 


313  ROliHRT  RROH''NlNG 

Tlan  spuko  Miltiadcs.  "  .\n*l  tlm-,  l)f.-t  ninnir  of  (jfcccc, 
\\"ln.>sc  limbs  liid  duty  indeed,  -wliat  j^ift  is  jiroiniscd  thyself  ? 
Tell  it   us  straij^htway, — Athens  the  mother  demands  of  her 

son  I 
Rosily  blushed  the  youth:    he  pauseil ;   but,  liftin^^  at  length 
His  eyes  from  the  gnnintl,  it  seemed  as  he  gathered  the  rest 

of  his  strength 
Into  the  utterance — "  Pan  si)oki'  thus:   '  I'Hr  what  tliou  hast 

done 
C'ount  on  a  worthy  reward  I      lltiueforth    be   allowed    thee 

release 
From  the  racer's  toil,  no  vulgar  reward  in  j)raise  or  in  pelf! 

"  I  am  boUi  to  believe,  Pan   Tneans  reward   the  most  to  my 

mind! 
Fight   I    shall,  with  our  foremost,  wherever  this  fennel    may 

grow,— 
Pound — Pan  helping  us — Persia  to  dust,  and,  under  the  deep, 
Whelm  her  away  forever;  and  then, — -no  Athens  to  save, — 
Marr}-  a  certain  maid,  I  know  keeps  faith  to  the  brave, — 
Hie  to  my  house  and  home;  and,  when  my  children  shall 

creep 
Close  to  my  knees,  recount  how  the  God  was  awful  yet  kind. 
Promised  their  sire  reward  to  the  full — rewarding  him — so!  " 


Unforeseeing  one!     Yes,  he  fought  on  the  Marathon  day: 
So,  when  Persia  was  dust,  all  cried,  "  To  Akropolis! 
Run,   Pheidippides,  one  race  more!   the  meed  is  thy  due! 
'  Athens  is  saved,  thank  Pan,"  go  shout!  "      He  flung  down 

his  shield, 
Ran  like  fire  once  more:  and  the  space  'twixt  the  Fennel-field 
And   Athens   was   stubble   again,   a  field  which  a  fire   runs 

through. 
Till   in   he   broke:    "  Rejoice,    we   conquer!  "      Like    wine 

through  clay, 
Joy  in  his  blood  bursting  his  heart,  he  died — the  bliss! 


THF.    NFAV  SOUTH  313 

So,  to  this  day,  when  friend  meets  friend,  the  word  of  salute 
Is    still    "  Rejoice!  " — his    word    which    brought    rejoicing 

indeed. 
So  is  Pheidippides  happy  forever, — the  noble  strong  man 
Who  could  race  like  a  God,  bear  the  face  of  a  God,  whom  a 

God  loved  so  well, 
He  saw   the   land   saved   he  had   helped  to  save,   and   was 

suffered  to  tell 
Such  tidings,  yet  never  decline,  but,  gloriously  as  he  began. 
So  to  end  gloriously — once  to  shout,  thereafter  be  mute : 
"  Athens  is  saved!  "     Pheidippides  dies  in  the  shout  for  his 

meed. 


THE   NEW   SOUTH 

By  Henry  Woodfen  Grady,  Journalist,  Orator.     Born  at  Athens,  Ga., 
185 1;  died  at  Atlanta,  1889. 

Taken  from  a  speech  at  a  banquet  of  the  New  England  Society  in  the  city  of  New 
York,  December  21,  i8£6.  See  New  York  Trilun  ,  Dec.  22,  i8£6;  also  "  Henry  W. 
Grady:  His  Life,  Writings,  and  Speeches,"  published,  in  1890,  by  The  Cassell  Pub- 
lishing Co.,  New  York,  N.  V. 

You  have  just  been  told  how,  in  the  pomp  and  circum- 
stance of  war,  your  returning  armies  came  back  to  you, 
marching  with  proud  and  victorious  tread,  reading  their  glory 
in  a  nation's  eyes! 

Let  me  picture  to  you  the  footsore  Confederate  soldier  as, 
buttoning  up  in  his  faded  gray  jacket  the  parole  which  was 
to  bear  testimony  to  his  children  of  his  fidelity  and  faith,  he 
turned  his  face  southward  from  Appomattox  in  April,  1865. 
Think  of  him  as  ragged,  half-starved,  heavy-hearted,  en- 
feebled by  want  and  wounds,  having  fought  to  exhaustion, 
he  surrenders  his  gun,  wrings  the  hands  of  his  comrades  in 
silence,  and  lifting  his  tear-stained  and  pallid  face  for  the 
last  time  to  the  graves  that  dot  the  old  Virginia  hills,  pulls 
his  gray  cap  over  his  brow  and  begins  the  slow  and  painful 
journey.     What  does  he  find  i* — let  me  ask  you  who  went  to 


3»4  HHNRY   lyOODl'l-N   CR.IPY 

your  homes  eager  to  find,  in  the  wilconu-  you  Inul  justly 
earnci!,  full  payment  for  four  ycurs'  sucrilicc.  Ik'  liiuls  iiis 
house  in  ruins,  liis  farm  dcvastatcil,  liis  slaves  free,  his  stock 
killed,  his  barns  empty,  his  trade  destroytei,  his  money 
worthless,  his  social  system,  feudal  in  its  magnificence,  swept 
away;  his  people  without  law  or  lei;al  status;  his  comrades 
slain,  and  the  burdens  of  others  heavy  on  liis  shoulders. 
Cru>hed  by  defeat,  his  very  traditions  are  gone.  Without 
money,  credit,  employment,  material,  or  training;  and  beside 
all  this,  confronted  with  the  gravest  jiroblem  that  ever  met 
human  intelligence — the  establishing  of  a  status  for  the  vast 
body  of  his  liberated  slaves. 

What  does  he  do — this  hero  in  gray  with  a  heart  of  gold  .'' 
Does  he  sit  down  in  sullenness  and  despair  ?  Not  for  a  day. 
Surely  God,  who  had  stripped  him  of  his  prosperity,  inspired 
him  in  his  adversity.  As  ruin  was  never  before  so  over- 
whelming, never  was  restoration  swifter.  The  soldier  stepped 
from  the  trenches  mto  the  furrow ;  horses  that  had  charged 
Federal  guns  marched  before  the  plow,  and  fields  that  ran 
red  with  human  blood  in  April  were  green  with  the  harvest 
in  June.  From  the  ashes  left  us  in  1864  we  have  raised  a 
brave  and  beautiful  city;  somehow  or  other  we  have  caught 
the  sunshine  in  the  bricks  ami  mortar  of  our  homes,  and 
have  builded  therein  not  one  ignoble  prejudice  or  memory. 

It  is  a  rare  privilege  to  have  had  part,  however  humble, 
in  this  work.  Never  was  nobler  dutj'  confided  to  human 
hands  than  the  uplifting  and  upbuilding  of  the  prostrate  and 
bleeding  South — misguided,  perhaps,  but  beautiful  in  her 
suffering,  and  honest,  brave,  and  generous  always. 

The  new  South  is  enamored  of  her  new  work.  Her  soul 
is  stirred  with  the  breath  of  a  new  life.  The  light  of  a 
grander  day  is  falling  fair  on  her  face.  She  is  thrilling  with 
the  consciousness  of  growing  power  and  prosperity.  As  she 
stands  upright,  full-statured  and  equal  among  the  people  of 
the  earth,  breathing  the  keen  air  and  looking  out  upon  the 
expanded  horizon,   she  understands  that  her   emancipation 


THE  hIElV  SOUTH  315 

came  because  through  the  inscrutable  wisdom  of  God  her 
honest  purpose  was  crossed,  and  her  brave  armies  were 
beaten. 

This  is  said  in  no  spirit  of  time-serving  or  apology.  The 
South  has  nothing  for  which  to  apologize.  I  should  be 
unjust  to  the  dauntless  spirit  of  the  South  and  to  my  own 
convictions  if  I  did  not  make  this  plain  in  this  presence. 
The  South  has  nothing  to  take  back.  In  my  native  town  of 
Athens  is  a  monument  that  crowns  its  central  hill — a  plain, 
white  shaft.  Deep  cut  into  its  shining  side  is  a  name  dear 
to  me  above  the  names  of  men — that  of  a  brave  and  simple 
man  who  died  in  brave  and  simple  faith.  Not  for  all  the 
glories  of  New  England,  from  Plymouth  Rock  all  the  way, 
would  I  exchange  the  heritage  he  left  me  in  his  soldier's 
death.  To  the  foot  of  that  I  shall  send  my  children's 
children  to  reverence  him  who  ennobled  their  name  with  his 
heroic  blood.  But,  speaking  from  the  shadow  of  that 
memory  which  I  honor  as  I  do  nothing  else  on  earth,  I  say 
that  the  cause  in  which  he  suffered  and  for  which  he  gave  his 
life  was  adjudged  by  higher  and  fuller  wisdom  than  his  or 
mine,  and  I  am  glad  that  the  omniscient  God  held  the 
balance  of  battle  in  His  almighty  hand,  and  that  human 
slavery  was  swept  forever  from  American  soil,  the  American 
Union  was  saved  from  the  wreck  of  war. 

Now,  what  answer  has  New  England  to  this  message  .-* 
Will  she  permit  the. prejudice  of  war  to  remain  in  the  hearts 
of  the  conquerors,  when  it  has  died  in  the  hearts  of  the  con- 
quered 1  Will  she  transmit  this  prejudice  to  the  next  genera- 
tion, that  in  their  hearts,  which  never  felt  the  generous  ardor 
of  conflict,  it  may  perpetuate  itself  .?  Will  she  withhold,  save 
in  strained  courtesy,  the  hand  which  straight  from  his 
soldier's  heart  Grant  offered  to  Lee  at  Appomattox  .?  Will 
she  make  the  vision  of  a  restored  and  happy  people,  which 
gathered  above  the  couch  of  your  dying  captain,  filling  his 
heart  with  grace,  touching  his  lips  with  ])rai^e,  and  glorifying 
his  path  to  the  grave — will  she  make  this  vision  on  which  the 


3>"  fii;\K)K  sii:\hii:UiL/. 

last  sigh  of  liis  expiring  soul  breathed  a  benetliction,  a  cheat 
ami  a  ilelusion  .'  If  she  does,  the  South,  never  abject  in  a>king 
for  comradeship,  must  accejjt  with  ilignity  its  refusal;  but  if 
she  does  not  refuse  to  accej)t  in  frankness  and  sincerity  tliis 
message  of  go(.)d  will  and  frientlship,  then  will  the  pro])hecy 
itf  Webster,  delivered  in  this  very  society  forty  years  ago 
amid  tremenilous  apj)lause,  become  true,  bi-  virified  in  its 
fullest  sense,  when  he  said:  "Standing  IkuuI  Id  hand  and 
clasping  hands,  we  should  remain  united  as  we  have  been  for 
sixty  years,  citizens  of  the  same  country,  members  of  tlie 
same  government,  united,  all  united  now  and  united  for- 
ever. ' ' 


THE    RESCUE    OF    LYGIA 

liy  Henrvk  SlENKlEWlcz.  Translated  from  the  I'olisli  Original  by 
Jeremiah  Curtin.  Taken,  by  permissittn  of  the  publishers,  from 
"'Quo  Vadis,"  published  by  Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  Boston. 

Jeremiah  Curtin.  Author;  iKjrn  in  Milwaukee,  Wis.,  1840.  Ilenryk 
Sienkiewicz  (sc'enke'avich),  Polish  Novelist;  born  at  Okreya.  Poland, 
1846. 

Tliough  the  [Roman]  people  were  sated  already  with 
blood-spilling,  still,  when  the  news  went  forth  that  the  end 
ot  the  games  was  ai)proaching,  and  that  the  last  of  the 
Christians  were  to  die  at  an  evening  spectacle,  a  countless 
audience  assembled  in  the  amphitheater.  .  .  .  Those  who 
had  seen  Lygia  at  the  house  of  Plautius  told  wonders  of  her 
beauty.  Others  were  occupied  above  all  with  the  question, 
would  they  see  her  really  on  the  arena  that  day.'  .    .    . 

Uncertainty,  waiting,  and  curiosity  had  ma.stered  all  spec- 
tators. Caesar  arrived  earlier  than  usual;  and  immediately 
at  his  coming  people  whispered  that  something  uncommon 
would  happen,  for  .  .  .  Caesar  had  w^ith  him  Cassius,  a  cen- 
turion of  enormous  size  and  gigantic  strength,  whom  he 
summoned  only  when  he  wished  to  have  a  defender  at  his 
side.   ...    It  was  noted  also  that   certain   precautions  had 


THE   RESCUE   OF  LYGIA  317 

been  taken  in  the  amphitheater  itself.  The  pretorian  j^uards 
were  increased;  command  over  them  was  held,  not  by  a 
centurion,  but  by  the  tribune  Subrius  Flavins,  known  hitherto 
for  blind  attachment  to  Nero.  It  was  understood,  then, 
that  Caesar  wished  in  every  case  to  secure  himself  against  an 
outburst  of  despair  from  Vinicius,  and  curiosity  rose  al!  the 
more. 

Every  eye  was  turned  with  strained  gaze  to  the  place  where 
the  unfortunate  lover  was  sitting.  He  was  exceedingly  pale, 
and  his  forehead  was  covered  with  drops  of  sweat ;  he  was  in 
as  much  doubt  as  were  other  spectators,  but  alarmed  to  the 
lowest  depths  of  his  soul.  .  .  .  Despair,  which  had  been 
set  at  rest,  began  again  to  cry  in  his  soul ;  the  former  desire 
to  save  Lygia  at  any  price  seized  him  anew.  .  .  .  He  said 
in  his  soul  that  Christ  might  take  her  to  himself  out  of  the 
prison,  but  could  not  permit  her  torture  in  the  Circus.  .  .  . 
"  Thou  canst!  "  repeated  he,  clenching  his  fists  convulsively, 
"Thou  canst!".  .  .  .  "Do  not  refuse  even  this,  and  I 
will  love  thee  still  more  than  hitherto.".  .  .  He  crushed 
doubt  in  himself,  he  compressed  his  whole  being  into  the 
sentence,  "I  believe,"  and  he  looked  for  a  miracle.  .  .  . 
At  that  very  instant,  almost,  the  prefect  of  the  city  waved  a  red 
handkerchief,  the  hinges  opposite  Caesar's  podium  creaked, 
and  out  of  the  dark  gully  came  Ursus  into  the  brightly 
lighted  arena. 

The  giant  blinked,  dazed  evidently  by  the  glitter  of  the 
arena;  then  he  pushed  into  the  center,  gazing  around  as  if 
to  see  what  he  had  to  meet.  ...  In  Rome  there  was  no 
lack  of  gladiators  larger  by  far  than  the  common  measure  of 
man,  but  Roman  eyes  had  never  seen  the  like  of  Ursus.  .  ,  . 
Senators,  vestals,  Caesar,  the  Augustians,  and  the  people 
gazed  with  the  delight  of  experts  at  his  mighty  limbs,  as  large 
as  tree-trunks,  at  his  breast,  as  large  as  two  shields  joined 
together,  and  his  arms  of  a  Hercules.  .  .  .  The  murmur 
rose  to  shouts,  and  eager  questions  were  put:  Where  did  the 
people  live  who  could   produce  such  a  giant  ,'     He  stood 


3iS  HENRYK  SIENKir.incZ 

tliLTC,  in  the  miiKlle  of  tlic  anipliithcator,  naked,  more  like 
a  stone  colossus  than  a  man,  with  a  collcctcil  expression,  and 
at  the  same  time  the  sad  look  of  a  barbarian;  and  while  sur- 
veyinj;  the  empty  arena,  he  gazed  wonderingly  with  his  hhie 
cliihllike  eyes,  now  at  the  spectators,  now  at  C'xsar,  now  at 
the  grating  t)f  the  cunicida,  whence,  as  lie  thought,  his 
executioners  would  come.    .    .    . 

He  was  unarmed,  ami  determined  to  tlie  as  hecajne  a 
confessor  of  the  "  I.amh,"  jieacefully  and  jjatiently.  Mean- 
while he  wished  to  pray  once  more  to  the  Saviour;  so  he 
knelt  on  the  arena,  joined  his  hands,  and  raised  his  eyes 
towards  the  stars  which  were  glittering  in  the  lofty  opening 
of  the  ampiiithcatcr. 

That  act  displeased  the  crowds.  'Ihey  had  had  enough 
of  those  Christians  who  died  like  sheep.  They  understood 
that  if  the  giant  would  not  defend  himself  the  sj^ectacle 
would  be  a  failure.  Here  and  there  hisses  were  heard. 
Some  began  to  cry  for  scourgers,  whose  oflice  it  was  to  lash 
combatants  unwilling  to  fight.    .    .    . 

Suddenly  the  shrill  sound  of  brazen  trumpets  was  lieard, 
and  at  that  signal  a  grating  opposite  Cx\sar"s  podium  was 
opened,  and  into  the  arena  rushed,  amid  shouts  of  beast- 
keepers,  an  enormous  German  aurochs,  bearing  on  his  head 
the  naked  body  of  a  woman. 

"  Lvgia!   Lygia!  "  cried  Vinicius. 

Then  he  seized  his  hair  near  the  temples,  squirmed  like  a 
man  who  feels  a  sharp  dart  in  his  body,  and  began  to  repeat 
in  hoarse  accents, — 

"  I  believe!   1  believe  I      O  Christ,  a  miracle!  ''   .    .    . 

This  time  the  amphitheater  was  silent.  The  Augustians 
rose  in  their  places,  as  one  man,  for  in  the  arena  something 
uncommon  had  happened.  That  Lygian,  obedient  and 
ready  to  die,  when  he  saw  his  queen  on  the  horns  of  the 
wild  beast,  sprang  up,  as  if  touched  by  living  fire,  and  bend- 
ing forward  he  ran  at  the  raging  animal. 


THE  RESCUl:    Of  I.YGU  3^9 

From  all  breasts  a  sudden  cry  of  amazement  was  heard, 
after  which  came  deep  silence. 

The  Lygian  fell  on  the  raging  bull  in  a  twinkle,  and  seized 
him  by  the  horns.    ,    .    . 

All  breasts  ceased  to  breathe.  In  the  amphitheater  a  fly 
might  be  heard  on  the  wing.  People  could  not  believe  their 
own  eyes.  Since  Rome  was  Rome,  no  one  had  seen  such  a 
spectacle. 

The  Lygian  held  the  wild  beast  by  the  horns.  The  man's 
feet  sank  in  the  sand  to  his  ankles,  his  back  was  bent  like  a 
drawn  bow,  his  head  was  hidden  between  his  shoulders,  on 
his  arms  the  muscles  came  out  so  that  the  skin  almost  burst 
from  their  pressure;  but  he  had  stopped  the  bull  in  his 
tracks.  And  the  man  and  the  beast  remained  so  still  that 
the  spectators  thought  themselves  looking  at  a  picture  show- 
ing a  deed  of  Hercules  or  Theseus,  or  a  group  hewn  from 
stone.  But  in  that  apparent  repose  there  was  a  tremendous 
exertion  of  two  struggling  forces.  The  bull  sank  his  feet  as 
well  as  did  tlie  man  in  the  sand,  and  his  dark,  shaggy  body 
was  curved  so  that  it  seemed  a  gigantic  ball.  Which  of  the 
two  would  fail  first,  which  would  fall  first  ?   .    .    . 

In  the  Circus  nothing  was  heard  save  the  sound  of  flame 
in  the  lamps,  and  the  crackle  of  bits  of  coal  as  they  dropped 
from  the  torches.  Their  voices  dietl  on  the  lips  of  the  spec- 
tators, but  their  hearts  were  beating  in  their  breasts  as  if  to 
split  them.  It  seemed  to  all  that  the  struggle  was  lasting 
for  ages.    .    .    . 

Meanwhile  a  dull  roar  resembling  a  groan  was  heard  from 
the  arena,  after  which  a  brief  shout  was  wrested  from  every 
breast,  and  again  there  was  silence.  People  thought  them- 
selves dreaming  till  the  enormous  head  of  the  bull  began  to 
turn  in  the  iron  hands  of  the  barbarian.  The  face,  neck, 
and  arms  of  the  Lygian  grew  purple;  his  back  bent  still 
more.  It  was  clear  that  he  was  rallying  the  remnant  of  his 
superhuman  strength,  but  that  he  could  not  last  long. 

Duller  and   duller,  hoarser  and   hoarser,  more  and   more 


;^.'0  ///:".VA')A    Ml  \h/l  li  JL/. 

Iiainliil  i^nw  thi.'  iiro.in  of  tlic  bull  as  it  inin;;lcil  with  the 
whistling  breath  from  the  breast  »>{  the  giant.  The  heail  of 
the  beast  turned  more  and  more,  and  from  his  jaws  came  a 
long,  foaming  tongue. 

A  moment  more  anil  to  the  eyes  of  the  spectators  sitting 
near  came  as  it  were  the  crach  of  bri-aking  hours;  then  the 
beast  rolletl  on  the  earth  witli  his  nrek  twisted  in  lUalh. 

The  giant  nnioved  in  a  twinkir  the  ropes  from  the  horns 
of  the  bull.  and.  raising  the  maiden,  began  to  breathe 
hurriedly.  His  face  became  pale,  his  hair  stuck  together 
from  sweat,  his  shoulders  anil  arms  seemed  Hooded  with 
water.  For  a  moment  he  stcjoil  as  if  only  half  conscious; 
then  he  raised  his  eyes  anil  looked  at  the  s])ectators. 

The  amphitheater  had  gone  wild. 

The  walls  of  the  building  were  trembling  from  the  roar  of 
tens  of  thousands  of  people.  Since  the  beginning  of  spec- 
tacles there  was  no  memory  of  such  excitement.  .  .  . 
Everywhere  were  heard  cries  for  mercy,  passionate  and  per- 
sistent, which  soon  turned  int(j  one  unbroken  thunder. 
That  giant  had  become  dear  to  those  people  enamored  of 
physical  strength :   he  was  the  first  personage  in  Rome. 

He  understood  that  the  multitude  were  striving  to  grant 
liim  his  life  and  restore  him  his  freedom,  but  clearly  his 
thought  was  not  on  himself  alc>nc.  He  looked  around 
awhile;  then  approached  Caesar's  podium,  and,  liolding  the 
body  of  the  maiden  on  his  out.stretched  arms,  raised  his  eyes 
with  entreaty,  as  if  to  say, — 

"  Have  mercy  on  her!  Save  the  maiden.  I  did  tliat  for 
her  sake!  "... 

At  the  sight  of  the  unconscious  maiden,  who  near  the 
enormous  Lygian  seemed  a  child,  emotion  seized  the  multi- 
tude of  senators  and  knights.  .  .  .  Some  thought  the  man 
a  father  begging  mercy  for  his  child.  Pity  burst  forth  sud- 
denly, like  a  flame.  They  had  had  blood,  death,  and  torture 
in  sufficiency.  Voices  choked  with  tears  began  to  entreat 
mercy  for  both. 


THE  RESCUE   OF  LYGIA  321 

But  Caesar  halted  and  hesitated.  Against  Vinicius  he  had 
no  hatred  indeed,  and  the  death  of  Lygia  did  not  concern 
him ;  but  he  preferred  to  see  the  body  of  the  raaitlen  rent  b}- 
the  horns  of  the  bull  or  torn  by  the  claws  of  the  beasts.  .  .  . 
And  now  the  people  wanted  to  rob  him.  Hence  anger 
appeared  on  his  bloated  face.  Self-love  also  would  not  let 
him  yield  to  the  wish  of  the  multitude,  and  still  he  did  not 
dare  to  oppose  it,  through  his  inborn  cowardice. 

So  he  gazed  around  to  see  if  among  the  Augustians,  at 
least,  he  could  not  find  fingers  turned  down  in  sign  of  death. 
But  Petronius  held  up  his  hand,  and  looked  almost  challeng- 
ingly  into  Nero's  face. 

Then  Nero  turned  to  the  place  where  command  over  the 
pretorians  was  held  by  the   stern   Subrius   Flavins,  hitherto 
devoted  with  whole  soul  to  him,  and  saw  something  unusual. 
The  face  of  the  old  tribune  was  stern,  but  covered  with  tears 
and  he  was  holding  his  hand  up  in  sign  of  mercy. 

Now  rage  began  to  possess  the  multitude.  Dust  rose  from 
beneath  the  stamping  feet  and  filled  the  amphitheater.  In 
the  midst  of  the  shouts  were  heard  cries:  "  Ahenobarbus! 
matricide!   incendiary!  " 

Nero  was  alarmed.  .  .  .  He  understood  that  to  oppose 
longer  was  simply  dangerous.  A  disturbance  begun  in  the 
Circus  might  seize  the  whole  city,  and  have  results  incalcu- 
lable. 

He  looked  once  more  at  Subrius  Flavius,  at  Scevinus  the 
centurion,  a  relative  of  the  senator,  at  the  soldiers;  and 
seeing  everywhere  frowning  brows,  moved  faces,  and  eyes 
fixed  on  him,  he  gave  the  sign  of  mercy. 

Then  a  thunder  of  applause  was  heard  from  the  highest 
seats  to  the  lowest.  The  people  were  sure  of  the  lives  of  the 
condemned,  for  from  that  moment  they  went  umler  their 
protection,  and  even  Caesar  would  not  have  dared  to  pursue 
them  any  longer  with  his  vengeance. 


JOHN   H^Y 


JIM  BI.UDSO,  OF  Tin-  PRAIRIH  BELLE 

Hy  Ji>U\  Hay.  Autlioi,  Toil,  L.iwvit,  Diplomat;  Ainl>ass.i(lor  to  Kng- 
l.iiiil.  1807-0S;  Srcrclary  of  Stiitf,  l8')S-  Horn  in  Salcni.  Indiana, 
1S3S. 

T^kcn,  by  peniiivsion  of  the  publislicrs,  (mm  "  I'ocnis  by  Jobn  Hay,'"  published  by 
IIou);hton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston. 

Wall,  no!    I  can't  ttll  wliar  lie  lives, 

Because  he  dont  live,  you  sec; 

Leastways,  he's  got  out  of  the  habit 

Of  livin'  like  you  and  nic. 

Whar  have  you  been  for  the  last  three  year 

That  you  haven't  heard  folks  tell 

How  jimmy  Bludso  pas.scei  in  his  checks 

The  night  of  the  Prairie  Belle  ? 

He  weren't  no  saint, — them  engineers 

Is  all  pretty  much  alike, — 

One  wife  in  Natchez-under-thc-Hill 

And  anotlier  one  here,  in  Pike; 

A  keerless  man  in  liis  talk  was  Jim, 

And  an  awkward  hand  in  a  row, 

But  he  never  flunked,  and  he  never  lied, — 

I  reckon  he  never  knowcd  how. 

And  this  was  all  the  religion  he  had, — 

To  treat  his  engine  well  ; 

Never  be  passed  on  the  river; 

To  mind  the  pilot's  bell; 

And  if  ever  the  Prairie  Belle  took  fire, — 

A  thousand  times  he  swore, 

He'd  hold  her  nozzle  agin  the  bank 

Till  the  last  soul  got  ashore. 

All  boats  has  their  day  on  the  ^Nlississip, 
And  her  day  come  at  last, — 


JIM   BLUDSO,  Ol-    THE    PKAIRIE   BELLE  2>^^ 

The  Movastar  was  a  better  boat, 

But  the  Belle  she  wouldn't  be  passed. 

And  so  she  come  tearin'  along  that  night — 

The  oldest  craft  on  the  line — 

With  a  nigger  squat  on  her  safety-valve,' 

And  her  furnace  crammed,  rosin  and  pine. 

The  fire  bust  out  as  she  clared  the  bar, 

And  burnt  a  hole  in  the  night, 

And  quick  as  a  flash  she  turned,  and  made 

For  that  wilier-bank  on  the  right. 

There  was  runnin'  and  cursin',  but  Jim  }-elled  out, 

Over  all  the  infernal  roar, 

"  I'll  hold  her  nozzle  agin  the  bank 

Till  the  last  galoot's  ashore." 

Through  the  hot,  black  breath  of  tlie  burnin'  boat 

Jim  Bludso's  voice  was  heard, 

And  they  all  had  trust  in  his  cussedness, 

And  knowed  he  would  keep  his  word. 

And,  sure's  you're  born,  they  all  got  off 

Afore  the  smokestacks  fell, — 

And  Bludso's  ghost  went  up  alone 

In  the  smoke  of  the  Prairie  Belle. 

He  weren't  no  saint, — but  at  jedgment 
I'd  run  my  chance  with  Jim, 
'Longside  of  some  pious  gentlemen 
That  would  n't  shook  hands  with  him. 
He  seen  his  duty,  a  dead-sure  thing, — 
And  he  went  for  it  thar  and  then ; 
And  Christ  ain't  agoing  to  be  too  hard 
On  a  man  that  died  for  men. 


;>-»  Ai.HHRT  ji:ri:Mi.-ih  nryHRiDGE 


AMERICA'S   MISSION 

V-y    Al.BKRT  Jf.rkmiam    IJkvf.riik;!-..    Lawyer;     Senator   from    Indiana, 
iSoo — >      Horn  in  IIighl.in>l  County,  Ohio,  1862. 

Fmm  .1  speech  delivered  in  the  Senate,  j.-inuan-  19,  kjoo.    See  Congressional  Kecor,!, 
Jann.irj-  19,  ny<K). 

Mr.  IVtsitK-nt.  this  (iiicstion  of  our  duty  to  \\\v  I'liilippiiu'S 
is  (k'liHT  than  any  cimstion  tif  party  {)()Iitics.  It  is  ck-nun- 
tal.  It  is  racial.  (loil  has  made  the  MngHsh-spcaking 
peopifs  the  master  organizers  of  the  world  to  establish  system 
where  chaos  reigns.  And  of  all  our  race  He  has  marked  the 
American  people  as  His  chosen  nation  to  finally  lead  in  the 
regeneration  of  the  world.  This  is  the  divine  mi.ssion  of 
America.  The  judgment  of  the  INIaster  is  upon  us:  "  Ye 
have  been  faithful  over  a  few  things;  I  will  make  you  rulers 
over  many  things." 

What  shall  history  say  to  us  .''  Shall  it  say  that  we  re- 
nounced that  holy  trust,  deserted  dut}',  abandoned  glory. 
forgot  our  sordid  profit  even,  because  we  feared  our  strength 
and  read  the  charter  of  our  powers  with  the  doubter's  eye 
and  the  quibbler's  mind  ?  Shall  it  say  that,  called  by  events 
to  captain  and  command  the  proudest,  ablest,  purest  race 
of  history  in  history's  noblest  work,  we  declined  that  great 
commission.?  Our  fathers  would  not  have  had  it  so.  No! 
They  planted  no  sluggard  people,  passive  while  the  work 
calls  them.  They  established  no  reactionary  nation.  They 
unfurled  no  retreating  flag. 

Do  you  tell  me  that  it  will  cost  us  money  .'  When  did 
Americans  ever  measure  duty  by  financial  standards  .''  Do 
you  tell  me  of  the  tremendous  toil  required  to  overcome  the 
vast  difficulties  of  our  task  .''  What  mighty  work  for  the 
world,  for  humanity,  even  for  ourselves,  has  ever  been  done 
with  ease  .''  Why  are  we  charged  with  power  such  as  no 
people  ever  knew,  if  w-e  are  not  to  use  it  in  a  work  such  as 
no  people  ever  wrought  } 


ami:ru:.is  mission  325 

Do  you  remind  inc  of  the  precious  blood  that  niust  be 
shed,  the  lives  that  must  be  given,  the  broken  hearts  of  loved 
ones  for  their  slain  ?  And  this  is  indeed  a  heavier  price  than 
all  combined.  ;.  And  yet  as  a  nation  every  historic  duty  we 
have  done,  every  achievement  we  have  accomplished,  has 
been  by  the  sacrifice  of  our  noblest  sons.  Every  holy 
memory  that  glorifies  the  flag  is  of  those  heroes  who  have 
died  tliat  its  onward  march  might  not  be  stayed.  That  flag 
is  woven  of  heroism  and  grief,  of  bravery  of  men  and 
women's  tears,  of  righteousness  and  battle,  of  sacrifice  and 
anguish,  of  triumph  and  glory.  In  the  cause  of  civilization, 
in  the  service  of  the  Republic  anywhere  on  earth,  Americans 
ccjnsider  wounds  the  noblest  decorations  man  can  win,  and 
count  the  giving  of  their  lives  a  glad  and  precious  duty. 

Pray  God  that  spirit  never  fails.  Pray  God  the  time  may 
never  come  when  American  heroism  is  but  a  legend  like  the 
story  of  the  Cid,  American  faith  in  our  mission  and  our  might 
a  dream  dissolved,  and  the  glory  of  our  mighty  race  departed. 

And  that  time  will  never  come.  We  will  renew  our  youth 
at  the  fountain  of  new  and  glorious  deeds.  We  will  exalt 
our  reverence  for  the  flag  by  carrying  it  to  a  noble  future  as 
well  as  by  remembering  its  ineffable  past.  Its  immortality 
will  not  pass,  because  everywhere  and  always  we  will 
acknowledge  and  discharge  the  solemn  responsibilities  our 
sacred  flag,  in  its  deepest  meaning,  puts  upon  us.  And  so, 
with  reverent  hearts,  where  dwells  the  fear  of  God,  the 
American  people  move  forward  to  the  future  of  their  hope 
and  the  doing  of  His  work. 

jNIr.  President  and  Senators,  adopt  the  resolution  offered, 
that  peace  may  quickly  come  and  that  we  may  begin  our 
saving,  regenerating,  and  uplifting  work.  Adopt  it,  and 
this  bloodshed  will  cease.  How  dare  we  delay  when  our 
soldiers'  blood  is  flowing  .? 


KOHE/ir  uRi:i:\  i\cj:ksoll 


THU    VISION    OF   WAR 


r>v    KoBKRT   Grekn    iN(;F.KSoi.i.,    Lawyer,    I. pctiircr,, Orator.      IWii  in 
Dresden.  N.  Y.,  1833;  died  in  New  York,  N.  Y.,  1899. 

Kxtract  Ironi  a  speccli  delivered  at  the  soldiers'  reunion  at  Indianapolis,  September 
J  I,  i8;6.  Reprinted,  by  permissiun  ul  the  publisher,  from  "  i'rosc  I'ocnis,"  copyright, 
1S84,  by  C.  P.  Farrell,  New  York. 

The  past  rises  before  mc  like  a  dream.  Again  wc  are  in 
the  great  struggle  for  national  life.  We  hear  the  sounds  of 
preparation — the  music  of  boisterous  ilrums — the  silver 
voices  of  heroic  bugles.  We  see  thousands  of  assemblages, 
and  hear  the  appeals  of  orators.  We  see  the  pale  cheeks  of 
women,  and  the  flushed  faces  of  men;  anil  in  those  assem- 
blages we  see  all  the  dead  whose  dust  we  have  covered  with 
flowers.  We  lose  sight  of  them  no  more.  We  are  Mith 
them  when  they  enlist  in  the  great  army  of  freedom.  We 
see  them  part  with  those  they  love.  Some  are  walking  for 
the  last  time  in  quiet,  woody  places,  with  the  maidens  they 
adore.  We  hear  the  whisperings  and  the  sweet  vows  of 
eternal  love  as  they  lingeringly  part  forever.  Others  are 
bending  over  cradles,  kissing  babes  that  are  asleep.  Some 
are  receiving  the  blessings  of  old  men.  Some  are  parting 
with  mothers  who  hold  them  and  press  them  to  their  hearts 
again  and  again,  and  say  nothing.  Kisses  and  tears,  tears 
and  kisses — divine  mingling  of  agony  and  love!  And  some 
are  talking  with  wives,  and  endeavoring  with  brave  words, 
spoken  in  the  old  tones,  to  drive  from  their  hearts  the  awful 
fear.  We  see  them  part.  We  see  the  wife  standing  in  the 
door  with  the  babe  in  her  arms — standing  in  the  sunlight 
sobbing.  At  the  turn  of  the  road  a  hand  waves — she 
answers  by  holding  high  in  her  loving  arms  the  child.  He 
is  gone,  and  forever. 

We  see  them  all  as  they  march  proudly  away  under  the 
flaunting  flags,  keeping  time  to  the  grand,  wild  music  of  war 
— marching  down  the  streets  of  the  great  cities — through  the 


THE   VISION  OF  IVylR  327 

towns  and  across  the  prairies — down  to  the  fields  of  glory, 
to  do  and  to  die  for  the  eternal  right. 

We  go  with  them,  one  and  all.  We  are  by  their  side  on 
all  the  gory  fields — in  all  the  hospitals  of  pain — on  all  the 
weary  marches.  We  stand  guard  with  them  in  the  wild 
storm  and  under  the  quiet  stars.  We  are  with  them  in 
ravines  running  with  blood — in  the  furrows  of  old  fields. 
We  are  with  them  between  contending  hosts,  unable  to 
move,  wild  with  thirst,  the  life  ebbing  slowly  away  among 
the  withered  leaves.  We  see  them  pierced  by  balls  and  torn 
with  shells,  in  the  trenches,  by  forts,  and  in  the  whirlwind 
of  the  charge,  where  men  become  iron,  with  nerves  of  steel. 

We  are  with  them  in  the  prisons  of  hatred  and  famine; 
but  human  speech  can  never  tell  what  they  endured. 

We  are  at  home  when  the  news  comes  that  they  are  dead. 
We  see  the  maiden  in  the  shadow  of  her  first  sorrow.  We 
see  the  silvered  head  of  the  old  man  bowed  with  the  last  grief. 

The  past  rises  before  us,  and  we  see  four  millions  of 
human  beings  governed  by  the  lash — we  see  them  bound 
hand  and  foot — we  hear  the  strokes  of  cruel  whips — we  see 
the  hounds  tracking  women  through  tangled  swamps.  We 
see  babes  sold  fi-om  the  breasts  of  mothers.  Cruelty  unspeak- 
able!     Outrage  infinite! 

Four  million  bodies  in  chains — four  million  souls  in 
fetters.  All  the  sacred  relations  of  wife,  mother,  father,  and 
child  trampled  beneath  the  brutal  feet  of  might.  And  all 
this  was  done  under  our  own  beautiful  banner  of  the  free. 

The  past  rises  before  us.  We  hear  the  roar  and  shriek  of 
the  bursting  shell.  The  broken  fetters  fall.  These  heroes 
died.  We  look.  Instead  of  slaves  we  see  men  and  women 
and  children.  The  wand  of  progress  touches  cne  auction- 
block,  the  slave-pen,  the  whipping-post,  and  we  see  homes 
and  firesides  and  schoolhouses  and  books,  and  where  all 
was  want  and  crime  and  cruelty  and  fear,  we  see  the  faces  of 
the  free. 

These  heroes  are  dead.      They  died   for  liberty — they  died 


328  THEODORE   DlllCin    HELD 

lor  us.  Tlicv  are  at  rest.  They  sleep  in  tin-  laml  tliey  made 
free,  umler  tlie  flag  tlicy  rendered  stainless,  under  the  solemn 
pines,  the  sail  hemlocks,  the  tearful  willows,  and  the  cm- 
bracing  vines.  They  sleep  beneath  the  shadows  of  the 
clouds,  careless  alike  of  sunsliine  or  of  storm,  each  in  the 
windowless  palace  of  Rest.  Earth  may  run  red  with  other 
wars:  they  are  at  peace.  In  the  midst  of  battle,  in  the  roar 
of  Conflict,  they  found  the  serenity  of  death.  I  have  one 
sentiment  for  soldiers  living  and  dead:  Cheers  for  the  living; 
tears  for  the  dead. 


AN   INCIDENT    IN    THE    LIFE    OF   WENDELL    PHILLIPS 

By  TilKonoRK  Dwir.itr  Wklp,  -'a   reformer  of  Boston,  long  prominent 
as  an  Abolitionist."     Born  1803;  died  1895. 

Adapted  from  an  address  delivered  at  memorial  services  upon  tlie   seventy-fourth 
birthday  of  Wendell  Phillips,  November  2g,  1885. 

December  8,  1837,  witnessed  a  memorable  scene  in 
Faneuil  Hall.  There,  in  the  old  Cradle  of  Liberty,  a  great 
birth  was  born  for  Freedom's  trial  hour.  There  the  frenzy 
of  a  pro-slavery  mob  was,  for  the  first  time,  confronted,  and 
with  a  sublime  audacity  defied  and  whelmed  in  defeat;  an 
assault  as  triumphant  in  its  issue  as  it  was  daring  and  resist- 
less in  its    victorious  grapple. 

The  immediate  occasion  of  that  scene  which  immortalized 
anew  the  old  Cradle  of  Liberty  was  the  series  of  tragedies 
enacted  by  pro-slavery  mobs  in  St.  Louis,  I\Io. ,  and  Alton, 
111.,  destroying  successively  two  printing-offices,  four  presses 
and  sets  of  types,  and  murdering  Lovejoy,  the  editor  of  the 
St.  Louis  Observer,  who,  despite  threats  and  curses, 
branded  slavery  as  sin.  For  this  mobs  hurled  to  destruction 
offices,  presses,  types,  and  editor.  Pierced  with  five  balls 
he  lay  in  his  blood,  his  murderers  scoffing  over  him.  While 
these  atrocities  were  the  special  occasion  of  that  Faneuil 
Hall  meeting,  its  logical  antecedents,  grown  then  to  a  mul- 
titude, compelled  those  who  called  it  to  in.stant  action. 


Ahl  INCIDENT  IN    THB   LIFE   OF  IVENDELL   PHILLIPS  3^9 

Two  years  before  that  meeting,  Wendell  Phillips,  from  the 
glowing  threshold  of  his  young  manhood,  looked  down  on 
Boston  helpless  in  the  clutches  of  a  mob  of  thousands,  its 
mayor,  aldermen,  and  police  consenting  and  conniving, 
while  law,  justice,  and  civilization  itself  lay  trodden  in  the 
streets.  He  saw  William  Lloyd  Garrison,  for  words  spoken 
against  slavery,  pounced  upon  by  a  mob,  driven  and  dragged 
half  nude  through  the  streets  of  Boston,  while  anarchy 
defiant  shouted  over  its  barbarian  conquest. 

The  hour  for  the  meeting  came;  those  in  sympathy  with 
its  object  filled  the  first  floor:  earnest,  enkindled,  deter- 
mined, and  silent,  there  they  stood.  The  gallery  was  packed 
with  a  crowd  of  another  sort,  lawless,  turbulent,  fierce,  bent 
on  riot,  and  lowering  malign  upon  the  law-abiding  phalanx 
below.  Then  in  the  front  gallery  uprose  a  bold-faced  man 
and  launched  into  a  violent  harangue.  His  whole  aspect 
revealed  the  bully,  truculent,  insolent,  and  defiant,  his  face 
a  sneer,  his  voice  a  taunt,  his  whole  air  threat  and  swagger, 
as  he  shouted,  "  Lovejoy  died  like  a  fool."  Then  he  com- 
pared the  drunken  mob  that  shot  him  down  to  the  Revolu- 
tionary sires,  who  spurned  overboard  that  hated  tea  taxed 
by  British  usurpation;  thus  glorifying  a  mob  of  assassins  by 
likening  their  atrocities  to  the  patriotic  exploits  of  the  men 
of  '76,  and  thus  dragging  them  down  to  the  depths  of  infamy 
along  with  bandits  and  brigands. 

Who  was  this  railing  brawler  vilifying  the  Revolutionary 
dead  by  herding  them  with  murderers .''  The  Attorne}  - 
General  of  Massachusetts,  the  highest  legal  officer  of  the 
Commonwealth.  Was  this  a  man  whom  the  grand  old  Bay 
State  delighted  to  honor  .?  She  had  sunk  thus  low.  Then 
it  was  when  liberty,  law,  and  justice  put  on  sack-cloth,  cast 
dust  upon  their  heads,  and  sat  down  wailing  forlorn 
together;  for  truth  had  fallen  in  the  streets,  equity  could 
not  enter,  justice  stood  afar  off,  and  judgment  was  turned 
away  backward. 

Profoundly  revolving  these  horrors,  Wendell  Phillips  had 


3jO  THtiOnOKH   nHIGHI'   li'hl.l) 

come  uj)  to  tliis  great  consult  in  the  old  Cradle  of  Liberty. 
Musing  on  the  drear  past,  brooding  over  the  heaving  present, 
and  forecasting  the  portentous  future,  lie  could  give  less  heed 
than  he  would  to  the  wise  words  of  the  venerated  C'lKinning. 
But  when  the  brutal  harangue  ot  the  Attorney-deneral  smote 
his  ear,  his  half  reverie  broke  with  a  crash,  as  he  heard 
Austin's  scornful  llout  of  Lovejoy,  that  he  "  died  like  a 
fool,"  his  impious  eulogy  of  his  murderers,  his  sacrilegious 
slander  of  the  Revolutionary  dead. 

As  soon  as  Austin's  last  brutal  words  dropped,  Phillips 
sprang  to  the  lectern.  Then  came  that  outburst  of  elo- 
quence, in  tempest,  soul  of  fire,  flashing  its  lightnings  from 
a  tongue  of  flame.  "  Sir,  when  I  heard  principles  laid  down 
that  place  the  murderers  of  Alton  side  by  side  with  Otis  and 
Hancock,  with  Quincy  and  Adams,  I  thought  those  pictured 
lips  would  have  broken  into  voice  to  rebuke  that  recreant 
American,  the  slanderer  of  the  dead.  Sir,  for  the  sentiment 
he  has  uttered  on  soil  consecrated  by  the  prayers  of  Puritans 
and  the  blood  of  j)atriots  the  earth  should  have  yawned  and 
swallowed  him  up!  "  Then  from  the  mob  in  the  gallery 
burst  howls  of  rage,  and  down  plunged  an  avalanche  of  yells 
and  curses.  Babel  clanged  jargon,  and  Bedlam  broke  loose, 
drowning  all  speech.  At  last  these  mob  yells  came  clanging 
through  the  din:  "  Take  that  back;  take  that  back;  make 
him  take  back  that  word  '  recreant ' ;  he  shan't  go  on  till  he 
has  taken  that  back!  " 

At  length  mob  throats  grew  hoarse,  and  Phillips  began: 
"  I  will  not  take  back  my  words.  Surely  the  Attorney- 
General  of  Massachusetts  needs  not  the  aid  of  your  hisses 
against  one  so  young  as  I  am." 

When  Phillips'  volcanic  outburst  had  blown  the  Attorney- 
General  out  of  sight  he  began  to  dissect  his  argument.  He 
showed  that  it  was  neither  law  nor  logic,  had  neither  premise 
nor  conclusion,  was  a  sheer  inflammatory  harangue  to  in- 
furiate the  mob  he  led.  At  the  end  of  Phillips'  speech  where 
vas  that  burly  swell  of  brag,  brass,   and  bluster  ?     At  the 


THE   OTHER   FELLOfV  331 

outset  sneering,  insolent,  defiant,  he  had  burst  upon  the 
meeting  with  the  swing  and  swagger  of  a  bravado.  In  the 
role  of  a  bully  he  had  blurted  insults  at  his  own  pastor,  and 
with  swinish  hoofs  had  trampled  the  ashes  of  the  Revolu- 
tionary dead.  Now  at  the  meeting's  close  what  is  left  of  his 
bloated  grandiloquence  .'*  He  had  felt  dashed  against  his 
brazen  brow  and  burning  into  it  the  brand  of  infamy  as  that 
conquering  young  arm  launched  the  bolt  that  smote  him 
down.  That  bolt  was  symbolized  in  the  stone  sped  to 
Goliath's  forehead  by  the  hand  of  a  stripling  three  thousand 
years  before,  when  the  giant  of  Gath  dashed  to  earth  lay 
headless  in  the  bloody  dust.  Thus  was  the  Goliath  of  the 
Bay  State  bar  struck  down  by  another  stripling,  who,  though 
he  never  had  a  brief,  had  a  sling  and  stone,  an  unerring  aim, 
and  an  arm  that  drove  the  missile  home.  The  bolt  flew 
true,  and  down  headlong  went  the  perjured  official, 
perfidious  to  the  highest  trusts,  false  to  liberty,  and  patron 
of  mobs  and  murderers,  and  grand  old  Faneuil  Hall  rang 
out  in  a  thousand  echoes  its  loud — Amen! 

THE   OTHER    FELLOW 

By  William    Hawley    Smith,  Teacher,   School  Superintendent,  Lec- 
turer.    Born  in  Sunderland,  Mass.,  1845;  resides  in  Peoria,  111. 

From  "The  Evolution  of  Dodd,"  copyright,  1884,  by  William  H.  Smith  and  John 
W.  Cook,  and  published  by  Rand,  McNally  &  Co.,  Chicago,  111. 

Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  says  that  in  every  one  of  us 
there  are  two  persons.  First,  there  is  yourself,  and  then 
there  is  the  Other  Fellow!  Now  one  of  these  is  all  the  time 
doing  things,  and  the  other  sits  inside  and  tells  what  he 
thinks  about  the  performance.  Thus,  I  do  so-and-so,  act 
so-and-so,  seem  to  the  world  so-and-so;  but  the  Other 
Fellow  sits  in  judgment  on  me  all  the  time. 

I  may  tell  a  lie,  and  do  it  so  cleverly  that  the  people  may 
think  that  I  have  done  or  said  a  great  or  good  thing;  and 
they  may  shout  my  praises  far  and  wide.  But  the  Other 
Fellow  sits  inside,  and  says,  "You  lie!  you  lie!  you're  a 


;,.?-'  l-DH'.-tRH   hli'.KlhSOS   B.fKr.R 

sneak,  and  you  know  it!  "  1  till  him  to  shut  up,  to  hear 
what  the  people  say  about  nu- ;  but  he  only  continues  to 
repeat  over  aiul  over  aj^ain,  "  Vou  lie!  you  lie!  you're  a 
sneak,  and  you  know  it!  " 

Or,  again.  1  may  do  a  really  noble  deed,  but  perhaps  be 
inisunderstooil  by  the  public,  who  may  persecute  me  and 
say  all  manner  of  evil  against  me,  falsely;  but  the  Other 
Fellow  will  sit  inside  and  say,  "  Never  mind,  old  boy!  It's 
all  right!   stand  by!  " 

And  I  would  rather  hear  the  "  well  done  "  of  the  Other 
Fellow  than  the  shouts  of  praise  of  the  whole  world ;  while 
I  would  a  thousand  times  rather  tliat  the  people  should  shout 
and  hiss  themselves  hoarse  with  rage  and  envy,  than  that  the 
Other  Fellow  should  sit  inside  and  say,  "  You  lie!  you  lie! 
you're  a  sneak,  and  you  know  it!  " 

TO    YOUNG    MEN    OF    NEW    YORK    IN    1861 

By  Edward  Dickinson  Baker,  Lawyer,  Member  of  Congress  from 
Illinois,  1844-51 ;  Senator  from  Oregon,  1860-61;  Major-General  of 
Volunteers.  Born  in  London,  England,  181 1;  killed  in  the  Battle  of 
Ball's  Bluff,  1 86 1. 

From  an  address  at  a  great  mass-meeting  in  New  York  City,  April  19,  i£6i.  Reprinted, 
by  permission  of  the  publisher,  from  "  Masterpieces  of  E.  D.  Baker,"  published,  1899, 
by  Oscar  T.  Shuck,  San  Krancisco. 

The  hour  for  conciliation  is  passed;  the  gathering  for 
battle  is  at  hand,  and  the  country  requires  that  every  man 
shall  do  his  duty.  Fellow  citizens,  what  is  that  country  ? 
Is  it  the  soil  on  which  we  tread  .-'  Is  it  the  gathering  of 
familiar  faces  .-*  Is  it  our  luxury,  and  pomp,  and  pride  ? 
Nay,  more  than  these,  is  it  power,  and  might,  and  majesty 
alone  ?  No;  our  country  is  more,  far  more,  than  all  these. 
The  countr}'  which  demands  our  love,  our  courage,  our 
devotion,  our  heart's  blood,  is  more  than  all  these.  Our 
country  is  the  history  of  our  fathers,  the  tradition  of  our 
mothers.  Our  country  is  past  renown;  present  pride  and 
power;   future   hope   and   dignity;   greatness,    glory,    truth. 


TO    YOUNG   MEN   OF  NEIV    YORK  IN    iSbi  m 

Constituiional  guarantees^ — ^  above  all,  freedom  forever. 
These  are  tlie  watchwords  under  which  we  fight,  and  we  will 
shout  them  out  until  the  stars  appear  in  the  sky  in  the 
stormiest  hour  of  battle.  I  have  said  that  the  hour  of  con- 
ciliation is  passed.  It  may  return,  but  not  to-morrow  or 
next  week.  It  will  return  when  that  tattered  flag  [of  Fort 
Sumter]  is  avenged.  It  will  return  when  rebellious  Con- 
federates are  taught  that  the  North,  though  peaceable,  is 
not  cowardly;  though  forbearing,  not  fearful.  That  hour 
of  conciliation  will  come  back  when  again  the  ensign  of  the 
Republic  will  stream  over  every  rebellious  fort  of  every  Con- 
federate State,  to  be,  as  of  old,  the  emblem  of  the  pride,  and 
power,  and  dignity,  and  majesty,  and  peace  of  the  nation.    - 

Young  men  of  New  York !  you  are  told  that  this  is  not  to 
be  a  war  of  aggression.  In  one  sense,  that  is  true;  in 
another,  not.  We  have  committed  aggression  upon  no 
man.  .  .  .  We  have  committed  no  oppression,  broken  no 
compact,  exercised  no  unholy  power,  but  have  been  loyal, 
moderate.  Constitutional,  and  just.  We  are  a  majorit}-,  and 
will  govern  our  own  Union,  within  our  own  Constitution,  in 
our  own  way.  We  are  all  Democrats.  We  are  all  Repub- 
licans. We  acknowledge  the  sovereignty  within  the  rule  of 
the  Constitution;  and  under  that  Constitution,  and  beneath 
that  flag,  let  traitors  beware! 

In  this  sense,  then,  young  men  of  New  York,  we  are  not 
for  a  war  of  aggression ;  but  in  another  sense,  speaking  for 
myself  as  a  man  who  has  been  a  soldier,  and  as  a  man  who 
is  a  Senator,  I  say  I  am  for  a  war  of  aggression.  I  propose  that 
we  do  now  as  we  did  in  Mexico — conquer  peace.  I  propose 
that  we  go  to  Washington,  and  beyond.  I  do  not  design  to 
remain  silent,  supine,  inactive — nay,  fearful — until  they 
gather  their  battalions  and  advance  upon  our  borders  or  into 
our  midst.  I  would  meet  them  upon  the  threshold,  and 
there,  in  the  very  hold  of  their  power,  in  the  very  atmosphere 
of  their  treason,  I  would  dictate  the  terms  of  peace.  It  may 
take  tliirtv  millions  of  dollars,   it  mar  take  three  hundred 


334  F.DH\-1Rn   PICK  INS  OX    BAKER 

millions — what  then  ?  ^^'c  have  it.  Lovnlly,  nobly,  grandly 
do  the  merchants  of  Now  York  respond  to  the  appeals  of 
the  Cjovernmcnt.  It  may  cost  us  seven  thousand  men  ;  it 
may  cost  us  scvcnty-five  thousand;  it  may  cost  us  seven 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand — what  then  ?  We  have  them. 
The  blood  of  every  loyal  man  is  dear  to  nie.  My  sons,  my 
kinsmen,  the  men  who  have  grown  up  beneath  my  eye  and 
beneath  my  care,  they  are  all  tlear  to  me;  but  if  the  country's 
destiny,  glory,  tradition,  greatness,  freedom,  Constitutional 
government  demand  it,  let  them  all  go. 

I  am  not  now  to  speak  timorous  words  of  peace,  but  to 
kindle  the  spirit  of  determined  war;  I  speak  in  the  Empire 
State,  amid  scenes  of  past  suffering  and  past  glory.  The 
defenses  of  the  Hudson  above  me,  the  battle-field  of  Long 
Island  before-  me,  and  the  statue  of  ^^'ashington  in  my  very 
face;  the  battered  and  unconquered  flag  of  Sumter  is  waving 
at  my  side,  which  I  can  imagine  to  be  trembling  again  with 
the  excitement  of  battle.  And  as  I  speak,  I  say  my  mission 
here  to-day  is  to  kindle  the  heart  of  New  York  for  war — 
short,  sudden,  bold,  determined,  forward  war.    .    .    . 

Let  no  man  underrate  the  dangers  of  this  conflict.  Civil 
war,  for  the  best  of  reasons  upon  the  one  side,  and  the  worst 
upon  the  other,  is  always  dangerous  to  liberty,  always  fear- 
ful, always  bloody.  But,  fellow  citizens,  there  are  yet  worse 
things  than  fear,  than  doubt  and  dread,  and  peril  and  blood- 
shed. Dishonor  is  wor.se.  Anarchy  is  worse.  States  forever 
commingling  and  forever  severing  is  worse.  Secessionists 
are  worse.  To  have  star  after  star  blotted  out,  to  have  stripe 
after  stripe  obscured,  to  have  glory  after  glory  dimmed,  to 
have  our  women  weep  and  our  men  blush  for  shame  through 
generations  to  come;  that  and  these  are  infinitely  worse  than 
blood.    .   .   . 

And  [young  men  of  New  York]  if,  from  the  far  Pacific,  a 
voice  feebler  than  the  feeblest  murmur  upon  its  shore  may 
be  heard  to  give  you  courage  and  hope  in  the  contest,  that 
voice  is  yours  to-day.     And  if  a  man  whose  hair  is  gray,  who 


^r   THE   TOMB   or  NAPOLEON  335 

is  well-nigh  worn  out  in  the  battle  and  toil  of  life,  may 
jiledge  himself  on  such  an  occasion,  and  in  such  an  audience, 
let  me  say  as  my  last  word  that  as  amid  sheeted  fire  and 
flame,  I  saw  and  led  the  hosts  of  New  York  when  they 
charged  in  contest  on  a  foreign  soil  for  the  honor  of  the  flag; 
so  again,  if  Providence  shall  will  it,  this  feeble  hand  shall 
draw  a  sword,  never  yet  dishonored,  not  to  fight  for  honor 
on  a  foreign  field,  but  for  country,  for  home,  for  law,  for 
government,  for  Constitution,  for  right,  for  freedom,  for 
humanity — and  in  the  hope  that  the  banner  of  my  country 
may  advance,  and  wheresoever  that  banner  waves,  there 
glory  may  pursue  and  freedom  be  established. 


AT   THE   TOMB   OF   NAPOLEON 

By  Robert  Green  Ingersoll,   Lawyer,   Lecturer,  Orator.      Bom  in 
Dresden,  N.  Y.,  1833;  died  in  New  York  City,  1899. 

From  an  address  on  "The  Liberty  of  Man,  Woman,  and  Child,"  Reprinted,  by 
permission  of  the  publisher,  from  "  Prose  Poems  and  Selections  from  the  Writings  of 
Robert  G.  Ingersoll,"  copyright,  1895,  by  C.  P.  Karrell,  New  York  City. 

A  little  while  ago,  I  stood  by  the  grave  of  the  old 
Napoleon — a  magnificent  tomb  of  gilt  and  gold,  fit  almost 
for  a  dead  deity — and  gazed  upon  the  sarcophagus  of  black 
Egyptian  marble,  where  rest  at  last  the  ashes  of  that  restless 
man.  I  leaned  over  the  balustrade  and  thought  about  the 
career  of  the  greatest  soldier  of  the  modern  world. 

I  saw  him  walking  upon  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  contem- 
plating suicide.  I  saw  him  at  Toulon — I  saw  him  putting 
down  the  mob  in  the  streets  of  Paris — I  saw  him  at  the  head 
of  the  army  of  Italy — I  saw  him  crossing  the  bridge  of  Lodi 
with  the  tricolor  in  his  hand — I  saw  him  in  Egypt  in  the 
shadow  of  the  Pyramids — I  saw  him  conquer  the  Alps  and 
mingle  the  eagles  of  France  with  the  eagles  of  the  crags,  I 
saw  him  at  Marengo — at  Ulm  and  Austerlitz,  I  saw  him  in 
Russia,  where  the  infantry  of  the  snow  and  the  cavalry  of  the 
wild  blast  scattered  his  legions  like  winter's  withered  leaves. 


33^>  J  OS  ITU  c.  siHirr 

I  saw  him  at  Lcipsic  in  tkfcat  ami  disaster — tlrivm  1)\-  a 
million  bayonets  back  upon  Paris — clutched  like  a  wild 
beast — banished  to  Klba.  I  saw  him  escape  and  retakr  an 
empire  bv  the  force  of  his  genius.  I  saw  him  ujion  the 
frightful  field  of  Waterloo,  where  Chance  and  Fate  combined 
to  wreck  the  fortunes  of  their  former  king.  Antl  I  saw  him 
at  St.  Helena,  with  liis  hands  crossed  behinti  him,  gazing 
out  upon  the  sad  and  solemn  sea. 

I  thought  of  the  orphans  anil  willows  he  had  made — of 
the  tears  that  had  been  shed  for  his  glory,  and  of  the  only 
woman  who  ever  loved  him,  pushed  from  his  heart  by  the 
cold  hand  of  ambition.  And  I  said  I  would  rather  have 
been  a  French  peasant  and  worn  wooden  shoes.  I  would 
rather  have  lived  in  a  hut  with  a  vine  growing  over  the  door, 
and  the  grapes  growing  purple  in  the  kisses  of  the  autumn 
sun.  I  would  rather  have  been  that  poor  peasant  with  my 
lo\'ing  wife  by  my  side,  knitting  as  the  day  died  out  of  the 
sky — with  my  children  upon  my  knees  and  their  arms  about 
me.  I  would  rather  have  been  that  man  and  gone  down  to 
the  tongueless  silence  of  the  dreamless  dust  tlian  to  have 
been  that  imperial  impersonation  of  force  and  murder. 


FOR    EXPANSION 

By  Joseph  C.  Sibley,  Member  of  Congress  from  Pennsylvania,  1893-95 
and  1899 — .     Born  in  Friendship,  N.  Y.,  1850. 

From  a  speech  made  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  February  1,  1900.     See  Con- 
gressional  Record  ior  February  1,  1900. 

Shall  we  keep  the  Piiilippine  Archipelago  and  Puerto 
Rico?  Every  foot!  No  nation  on  the  globe  has  higher 
rights  or  better  title  to  a  rod  of  soil.  We  hold  by  a  double 
claim — the  right  of  conquest  and  the  right  of  purchase. 
My  belief  is  that  where  once  our  banner's  shadow  has  fallen, 
there  will  survive  a  race  of  freemen.  And  I  should  hold 
Cuba  until  stability,  order,  the  protection  of  life,  property, 
and  good  government  were  assured. 


FOR  EXPyiNSION  337 

And  again  I  echo  the  President's  query,  "Who  would 
haul  down  the  flag?"  Who  planted  it  there?  What 
Cabinet  council  ?  What  warrior  ?  What  statesman  ?  What 
Senator  or  Representative  ?  What  body  of  men  framed  any 
plan  of  conquest  ?  The  cries  of  suffering  humanity,  ground 
down  beneath  the  iron  heel  of  oppression,  rang  in  our  ears, 
and  we  stopped  our  ears.  Their  groans  were  heard,  but  we 
answered  not.  We  saw  them  stripped  and  wounded  on  our 
way  to  Jericho,  and  like  the  priest  and  Levite  passed  by  on 
the  other  side.  Not  unheard  at  the  throne  of  heaven  were 
those  groans  and  prayers. 

In  order  to  awaken  us  from  our  torpor  and  almost 
criminal  indifference  the  Almighty  permitted  the  engines  of 
His  wrath  to  hurl  their  thunderbolts  under  the  bows  of  the 
Maine  lying  peacefully  at  anchor  in  Habana  Harbor.  Nor 
keenest  sighted  statesman  nor  most  daring  warrior  had  even 
contemplated  the  possibility  of  gain,  growth,  or  greatness  to 
us  as  a  nation  to  come  out  of  the  war  of  which  the  blowing 
up  of  the  Maine  was  the  first  declaration. 

These  lands  and  people,  unworthily  ruled,  were,  in  the 
wisdom  of  the  Almighty,  to  pass  from  the  house  of  Saul  to 
that  of  David.  God  and  the  valor  of  American  arms  gave 
us  this  territory,  not  because  w.e  are  a  nation  altogether  free, 
altogether  pure  and  blameless,  but  because  working  through 
human  instrumentalities.  He  has  given  it  to  the  boldest, 
freest,  most  progressiva,  most  enlightened,  and  most  Chris- 
tian of  all  the  nations  of  the  present  age.    .    .   . 

Should  the  Administration  surrender  this  territory  and  the 
advantages  it  secures  to  America,  the  historian  of  the  future 
will  write  it  down  as  one  of  the  most  pusilanimous  Adminis- 
trations that  ever  had  control  of  national  events.  Shall  we 
eternally  take  council  with  our  fears  ?  Shall  we  play  the  role 
of  opportunists  in  politics  ?  Shall  we  act  the  part  of  poli- 
ticians on  issues  of  such  tremendous  consequence?  No! 
No!  Tx't  us  rather  set  our  faces  toward  the  morning  and 
keep  step  with  the  forward  progress  of  the  world.      No  party 


3,v^  losiPH  c.  smu-Y 

or  individual  will  ever  win  success,  or  even  deserve  it,  by 
any  jiolicy  of  mere  negation.  No  man  or  party  wins  success, 
<>r  should,  by  merely  ])ointing  out  the  mistakes  of  others. 

We  have  forgotten  the  name  of  a  single  one  of  the  horde 
of  critics  of  Paradise  I.osf,  but  we  remember  well  that  its 
author  was  John  Milton.  \Vc  recall  the  fact  that  Watt 
invented  the  steam-engine.  We  have  forgotten,  or  never 
cared  to  know,  the  names  of  the  multitude  of  men  who  have 
wrecked  steam-engines.  Primitive  man  liveil  in  caverns, 
clothed  himself  in  skins,  and  ate  his  meat  raw,  and  there  has 
never  occurred  a  change  for  the  higher  and  better  forms  of 
life  without  arousing  the  hostility  of  some  okl  mossback, 
consenative  hunker,  who  will  prate  of  those  fairer  and  better 
days  of  old,  when  their  grandfathers  swung  from  the  limbs 
of  the  trees  in  the  wilds  of  the  forest  primeval. 

Mr.  Chairman,  we  have  held  up  to  us  for  warning  the 
history  of  Persia  and  Greece,  of  Babylon  and  Rome.  They 
have  flourished  and  faded.  They  had  their  morning  hour 
and  their  meridian  and  went  out  in  the  blackness  of  night. 
Rome  expanded  until,  like  a  wheel,  the  spokes  radiated  from 
the  hub  through  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa.  The  collapse 
of  her  power  and  of  every  empire  of  the  past  came,  not  from 
the  weakness  of  the  periphery  of  the  wheel,  but  from  the 
rottenness  of  the  hub. 

'•  Rome  fought  for  .spoils  and  booty,  and  all  the  loot  of  war. 
The  talons  of  her  eagles  ever  left  tlie  cankering  scar, 
Her  consuls  led  her  legions  forth  with  sword,  and  scourge,  and  chain; 
And  captives  reel  at  the  chariot  wheel  when  home  they  come  again. 

'•■  Not  for  spoils  and  booty,  not  for  the  loot  of  war, 

Not  for  a  train  of  captives  chained  to  the  conqueror's  car, 
Our  nation  sends  her  legions  forth,  far  out  across  the  sea, 
With  her  starry  emblem  floating,  proclaiming  all  men  free." 

We  go  forth  with  the  plowshare  and  the  pruning-hook; 
with  the  Bible  and  the  spelling-book.  From  the  jungle  and 
the  hilltops  will  float  the  banner  of  freedom  over  countless 
schoolhouses;  we  go  to  lift  up  cellar-hatchways  and  let  out 


FOR   EXPANSION  339 

fetid  poisons  and  miasmatic  vapors;  we  go  forth  not  to 
pillage  temples,  but  to  erect  them ;  not  to  stifle  liberty,  but 
to  give  nobler  ideals  of  liberty;  not  to  forge  fetters,  but  to 
break  them. 

History  finds  man  first  in  Asia,  from  which  the  human 
family  have  emigrated  to  the  westward  until  they  have  circled 
the  globe,  and  to-day  the  new  civilization  clasps  hands  at 
INIanila  with  the  ancient.    .    .   . 

Mr.  Chairman,  every  dictate  of  prudence  and  of  statesman- 
ship, every  dictate  of  business  sense  and  of  commercial  ad- 
vantage, every  dictate  of  reason,  every  prompting  of  human- 
ity, and  every  obligation  of  applied  Christianity  unite  in  the 
demand  that  we  go  forward.  We  have  a  mission  to  perform ; 
a  destiny  to  accomplish;  an  example  to  be  given  of  how 
nations  may  justly  rule  themselves,  not  in  license  but  in 
liberty.  Nor  shall  the  mission  be  finished,  or  that  destiny 
be  fully  accomplished,  until — 

"  The  war-drums  beat  no  longer, 
And  the  battle-flags  are  furled 
In  the  parliament  of  man — 
The  federation  of  the  world." 

Shall  we  falter  in  our  duty  ?  Shall  we  haul  down  that  flag 
whose  waving  stripes  speak  the  white  of  purity  and  the  red 
of  sacrifice,  and  whose  shining  stars  stand  in  the  field  of  blue 
as  an  aspiration  and  inspiration  for  all  that  is  noble  in  life 
and  beneficent  in  government.''  No!  Let  it  float!  And 
jmder  its  shadows 

"  Shall  brothers  be  knit  in  closer  bands 

From  the  mountain's  crest  to  the  gray  sea-sand-s, 
And  the  world  be  better,  I  ween." 


34°  ROHt:KT  CRf-fN  inci:rsoj.l 


THF.    PLUMED    KNIGHT 


1U-   KoHF.RT  Grf.kn    1n(;ersoi.i.,    Lawyer,    I^-cturer,   Orator.      Br>m  in 
Dresden,  N.  V.,  1S33;  died  in  New  York  City,  1S99. 

Krom  a  speech  m.-ide  in  the  Republican  National  Convention  at  Cincinnati,  June  15, 
1S76.  Reprinted,  by  permission  of  the  publisher,  from  "  Prose  Poems  and  Selections 
from  the  Writings  of  Robert  (.).  IngersoU,"  copyright,  1895,  by  C.  P.  Farrell,  New 
York  City. 

Tlic  Republicans  of  the  Uniteti  States  tieinaiul  as  their 
leader  in  the  great  contest  of  1876  a  man  of  intelligence,  a 
man  of  integrity,  a  man  of  well-known  and  apj)roved  politi- 
cal opinic)ns.  They  demand  a  statesman;  they  demand  a 
reformer  after,  as  well  as  before,  tlie  election.  They  demand 
a  politician  in  the  highest,  broadest,  and  best  sense — a  man 
of  superb  moral  courage.    .    .   . 

The  Republicans  of  the  United  States  demand  a  man  who 
knows  that  prosperity  and  resumption,  when  they  come, 
must  come  together;  that  when  they  come  they  will  come 
hand  in  hand  through  the  golden  harvest  fields;  hand  in  hand 
by  the  whirling  spindles  and  turning  wheels;  hand  in  hand 
past  the  open  furnace-doors;  hand  in  hand  by  the  flaming 
forges;  hand  in  hand  by  the  chimneys  filled  with  eager  fire — 
greeted  and  grasped  by  the  countless  sons  of  toil.   .   .   . 

The  Republicans  of  the  United  States  want  a  man  who 
knows  that  this  Government  should  protect  every  citizen  at 
home  and  abroad;  who  knows  that  any  government  that  will 
not  defend  its  defenders  and  protect  its  protectors  is  a  dis- 
grace to  the  map  of  the  world.  They  demand  a  man  who 
believes  in  the  eternal  separation  and  divorcement  of  church 
and  school.  .  .  .  The  man  who  has  in  full,  heaped  and 
rounded  measure,  all  these  splendid  qualifications  is  the 
present  grand  and  gallant  leader  of  the  Republican  party — 
James  G.  Blaine. 

Our  country,  crowned  with  the  vast  and  marvelous 
achievements  of  its  first  century,  asks  for  a  man  worthy  of 


THE   PLUMED   KNIGHT  341 

the  past  and  prophetic  of  her  future;  asks  for  a  man  who  has 
the  audacity  of  genius;  asks  for  a  man  who  is  the  grandest 
combination  of  heart,  conscience,  and  brain  beneath  her 
fiag.     Such  a  man  is  James  G.  Blaine. 

For  the  Republican  host,  led  by  this  intrepid  man,  there 
can  be  no  defeat. 

This  is  a  grand  year;  a  year  filled  with  the  recollections 
of  the  Revolution,  filled  with  proud  and  tender  memories  of 
the  past,  with  the  sacred  legends  of  liberty;  a  year  in  which 
the  sons  of  freedom  will  drink  from  the  fountains  of 
enthusiasm;  a  year  in  which  the  people  will  call  for  a  man 
who  has  preserved  in  Congress  what  our  soldiers  won  upon 
the  field;  a  year  in  which  we  call  for  the  man  who  has  torn 
from  the  throat  of  treason  the  tongue  of  slander;  ...  for 
the  man  who,  like  an  intellectual  athlete,  has  stood  hi  the 
arena  of  debate  and  challenged  all  comers,  and  who,  ap  to 
the  present  moment,  is  a  total  stranger  to  defeat. 

Like  an  armed  warrior,  like  a  plumed  knight,  James  G. 
Blaine  marched  down  the  halls  of  the  American  Congress 
and  threw  his  shining  lance  full  and  fair  against  the  brazen 
foreheads  of  the  defamers  of  his  country  and  the  maligners 
of  his  honor.  For  the  Republicans  to  desert  this  gallant 
leader  now  is  as  though  an  army  should  desert  their  general 
upon  the  field  of  battle. 

James  G.  Blaine  is  now,  and  has  been  for  years,  the  bearer 
of  the  sacred  standard  of  the  Republican  party.  I  call  it 
sacred,  because  no  human  being  can  stand  beneath  its  folds 
without  becoming  and  without  remaining  free. 

Gentlemen  of  the  convention,  in  the  name  of  the  great 
Republic,  the  only  republic  that  ever  existed  upon  this  earth; 
in  the  name  of  all  her  defenders  and  of  all  her  supporters; 
in  the  name  of  all  her  soldiers  living;  in  the  name  of  all  her 
soldiers  dead  upon  the  field  of  battle;  and  in  the  name  of 
those  who  perished  in  the  skeleton  clutch  of  famine  at 
Andersonville  and  Libby,  whose  sufferings  he  so  vividly 
remembers.  Illinois— -Illinois  nominates  for  the  next   Presi- 


3P  FAnV.4RD   m  Llll:R,  LORD   t.YTTON 

dent  of  this  country  that  jirincc   of  inirlianicnlaiians,    that 
leader  of  leaders,  James  Ci.  lilaine. 


THE    LAST   OF   THE    ROMAN    TRIBUNES 

Py    F.DWAKD   lU  i.WKR,   LoKD   Lytion,  Novelist.  I'l.iy wriijht.  Essayist,  . 
Tot-t,  Suitcsm.iii.      llorii  in  LonJuii,  KinjUiml,  1803;  died  ii>  TDrcjuay, 
Kngland,  1S73. 

Krom  tlie  novel  "  Ricnii,"   published  by  George  Routledge  and  Sons,   London  and 
New  York. 

Ricnzi,  the  Roman  Senator,  \vas  at  the  Capitol  awaiting 
the  mob.  On  they  came,  no  longer  in  measured  order,  as 
stream  after  stream — from  lane,  from  alley,  from  palace,  and 
from  hovel — the  raging  sea  received  new  additions.  On 
they  came — their  passions  excited  by  their  numbers — women 
and  men,  children  and  malignant  age — in  an  awful  array  of 
aroused,  released,  unresisted  physical  strength  and  brutal 
wrath.  "  Death  to  the  traitor — death  to  the  tyrant — death 
to  him  who  has  taxed  the  people!  " 

Suddenly  came  a  dead  silence,  and  on  the  balcony  above 
stood  Rienzi — his  head  was  bared  and  the  morning  sun 
shone  over  that  lordly  brow,  and  the  hair  grown  gray  before 
its  time,  in  the  service  of  that  maddening  multitude.  Pale 
and  erect  he  stood — neither  fear,  nor  anger,  nor  menace — but 
deep  grief  and  high  resolve — upon  his  features!  A  momen- 
tary shame — a  momentary  awe  seized  the  crowd. 

He  pointed  to  the  Gonfalon,  wrought  with  the  Republican 
motto  and  arms  of  Rome,  and  thus  he  began : 

"  I  too  am  a  Roman  and  a  citizen!  hear  me!  " 

"Hear  him  not!  Plear  him  not!  His  false  tongue  can 
charm  away  our  senses!  Hear  him  not!  down  with  the 
tyrant!      Hear  him  not!   death  to  the  death-giver!  " 

From  earth  to  heaven  rose  the  roar — "  Down  with  the 
tjTant — down  with  him  who  taxed  the  people!  " 

A  shower  of  stones  rattled  on  the  mail  of  the  Senator, — 
still  he  stirred  not.      No  changing  muscle  betokened  fear. 


THE   LAST  OF   THE  ROMAN    TRIBUNES  343 

He  stood  collected  in  his  own  indignant  but  determined 
thoughts!  Darts  and  arrows  began  to  darken  the  air;  and 
now  a  voice  was  heard  shrieking,  "  Way  for  the  torches!  " 
Straw,  and  wood,  and  litter  were  piled  hastily  round  the  door 
of  the  Capitol,  and  the  smoke  curled  suddenly  up,  beating 
back  the  rush  of  the  assailants. 

Rienzi  was  no  longer  visible;  an  arrow  had  pierced  his 
hand — the  right  hand  that  supported  the  flag  of  Rome — the 
right  hand  that  had  given  a  constitution  to  the  Republic. 
He  retired  from  the  storm  into  the  desolate  hall. 

He  sat  down;  and  tears,  springing  from  no  weak  and 
woman  source,  but  tears  from  the  loftiest  fountain  of  emotion 
— tears  that  befit  a  warrior  when  his  own  troops  desert  him 
— a  patriot  when  his  countrymen  rush  to  their  own  doom — 
a  father  when  his  children  rebel  against  his  love, — tears  such 
as  these  forced  themselves  from  his  eyes  and  relieved,  bu* 
i/iey  changed,  his  heart ! 

"Enough,  enough!"  he  said,  rising  and  dashing  the" 
drops  scornfully  away;  "  I  have  risked,  dared,  toiled  enough 
for  this  dastard  and  degenerate  race.  I  renounce  the 
thought  of  which  they  are  so  little  worthy! — Let  Rome 
perish! — I  feel,  at  last,  that  I  am  nobler  than  my  country-! 
— she  deserves  not  so  high  a  sacrifice!  " 

Death  lost  all  the  nobleness  of  aspect  it  had  before  pre' 
sented  to  him.  His  active  mind  ran  over  the  chances  o\ 
disguise — of  escape;  he  left  the  hall — passed  through  the 
humbler  rooms,- — found  in  one  of  them  a  coarse  working- 
garb — indued  himself  with  it — placed  upon  his  head  some 
of  the  draperies  and  furniture  of  the  palace,  as  if  escaping 
with  them.      With  that  he  awaited  his  occasion. 

Meanwhile  the  flames  burnt  fierce  and  fast;  the  proud 
Capitol  of  the  Caesars  was  already  tottering  to  its  fall!  Now 
was  the  time! — he  passed  the  flaming  door — the  smoldering 
threshold;  he  passed  the  outer  gate  unscathed — he  was  in 
the  middle  of  the  crowd.  The  mob  rushed  past  him — he 
went  on — he  gained  the  last  stair  descending  into  the  open 


344  h:nii.4Rn   lU'l.HT.R,  LORD    lYTTON 

streets — he  wus  at  tin-  last  gate — liberty  ami  life  were  before 
liiin. 

A  soklier  (oiu'  of  his  own)  seizeil  him.  "  Pass  not — 
whitlier  goest  tliou  ?  " 

"Beware  lest  the  Senator  escape  disguised!"  cried  a 
voice  behind. 

"  I  am  a  .*~^enator!  "  he  said  in  a  loud  voice.  "  Who  dare 
touch  the  representative  of  the  people  .'  " 

The  multitude  were  round  him  in  an  instant.  Not  led, 
but  rather  hurried  and  whirled  along,  the  Senator  was  borne 
to  the  Place  of  the  Lion.  There  arrived,  the  crowd  gave 
way,  terrified  by  the  greatness  of  their  victim.  The  whole 
Capitol  wrapped  in  fire,  lighted  with  ghastly  pomp  the  im- 
mense multitude.  Down  the  long  vista  of  the  streets 
extended  the  fiery  light  and  the  serried  throng,  till  the  crowd 
closed  with  the  gleaming  standards  of  the  Colona — the 
Orsini — the  Savelli !  Her  true  tyrants  were  marching  into 
Rome!  As  the  sound  of  their  approaching  horns  and 
trumpets  broke  upon  the  burning  air,  the  mob  seemed  to 
regain  their  courage.  Rienzi  prepared  to  speak ;  his  first 
word  was  as  the  signal  of  his  own  death. 

"Die,  tyrant!"  cried  del  Vecchio;  and  he  j)lunged  his 
dagger  into  the  Senator's  breast. 

"  Die,  executioner  of  Montreal!  "  muttered  Villani;  and 
his  was  the  second  stroke.  Rienzi,  without  a  word,  without 
a  groan,  fell  to  the  earth — as  the  roaring  waves  of  the  multi- 
tude closed  over  him. 

A  vast  volume  of  smoke  obscured  the  fires  afar  off;  then 
came  a  dull  crash,  and  the  next  moment,  the  towers  of  the 
Capitol  had  vanished  from  the  scene,  and  one  intense  and 
sullen  glare  seemed  to  settle  over  the  atmosphere, — making 
all  Rome  itself  the  funeral  pyre  of  the  last  of  the  Roman 
tribunes! 


APPENDIX. 

PROPER  NAMES  FOUND  IN  THE  PRECEDING 
SELECTIONS  AND  WORDS  OFTEN  MISPRO- 
NOUNCED. 

KEY    OF    SIGNS    AND    DIACRITICAL   MARKS. 

fate,  ah,  all,  care,  at,  ask,  final  ;  gve,  let,  fern,  silirnt  ;  ice,  ill  ;  Sid, 
orb,  6dd  ;  Qse,  up,  urn  ;  pity  ;  mOon,  book  ;  out,  oil  ;  chair  ;  go;  sing  ; 
///en,  thin  ;  zh  like  z  in  azure. 


abdomen — ab-do'men,   not   ab'do- 

nien. 
abject — ab'jekt,  not  ah-jeki'. 
ablative — iib'la-iiv,  not  ab"l-ilv'. 
abstemious — ab-ste'mius,  not  ab- 

siem'i  us. 
acclimate— ak-kli'mat,  not  ak'kli- 

niat. 
accouter — ak-koo'trr,      not      ak- 

kt>u'ter. 
accurate — ak'kfi-rat,  not  ak'ker-it. 
acquiesce — ai<-kwi-e>'.  not  -esk. 
across  — likros,  ttot  a-krosi'. 
acumen— a-ku'men,  wc^ak'n-men. 
address  (noun  and  verb) — ad-dre^'. 
adept  (noun  and  adj.) — a-dgpi'. 
Adonis  —  a-do'nis. 
adult — :i  dull'. 
aerie — e  ri  or  a'er-i. 
again — agen',  not  a-gSn'. 
against — a-gensi'. 

(adj  )  —  a'jril,  not  ajii. 


albumen — al-bu'men. 

Aldebaran — al-de-ba-ran'    or     2.1- 

deb'a  ran. 
alien — al'virn,  not  al'i-2n. 
allopathy  — al-l6p'a-tby. 
alloy  (noun  and  verb) — al-loi'. 
ally— al-li'. 
almond — ii'mund. 
almost — al'most,  not  al'must. 
Alpaca — al-pak'a  not  al-apak'a. 
Alpine — al'pin  or  -pin. 
alternate    (noun    and    adj.) — S.1- 

ter'nate,  riot  al- 
always — al'waz,  not  al'wuz. 
amateui  —  am'ater  or  am'a  tQr'. 
Amherst — am'erst,  not  am'herst. 
amenable — li-me'na-b'l,      not      a- 

men'- 
anarchist — an'ar-klst. 
anchovy— an-clio'vy. 
aniiiinciate — an-nun'shi-5t. 
antarctic — int-ark'iik,  not  int-iir' 

tik. 
Antilles — an  tll'les. 

345 


346 


U  OKI  ).s    ( )/  /  /:  ;V   .V/;.s7 \V(  ),VOi  NCl-D. 


antipode  — Ai»'i1-|h"k1,  /-«/  antlp'O- 

applicable— Ai/pllk-a-bl,    «<•/■    Ap- 

plik'.l-b'l. 
appraiser— Ap-pia/'ti,     no/    ;"i  p- 

l)lI/'cT. 

appreciate — :'ip-prc  shi-at,  iu>i  :\p- 

pu"  >i-.lt. 
Arab-  ;^i':1l). 
Aramaic  — ar-;i-ma'lk. 
archangel — ark-.ln'jcl. 
archbishop— arch-blsli'fip. 
archipelago — iirk-i  pel'a-go,       ttot 

arch- 
arctic— iirk'tlk,  tto/  ilr'tlk. 
artificer — ar-tU'I-sSr. 
Asia— a'shid. 

associate— as-sO'shl-at,  not  -si  at. 
athlete — ath'lct,  not  aih'l-gt. 
Attila— ai  il-a. 

attorney — at-tur'ny,  no/  at-t6r'i)5^. 
attribute — at-irib  Qt,  no/  at-trib'- 

it. 
audacious — a-da'shus,  not  a-dash' 

us. 
aurochs — a  roks. 
Austerlitz — as'ter-lits. 
auxiliary — agz-il'ya-ry. 
aversion — a-ver'shun,  no/  -zhuii. 
ay  (yes)— I. 
aye  (always) — a. 


B 


bacillus — ba-sil'lus. 

bade — bad. 

banana — ba-nii'na,  no/  ban-an'a. 

Basil — ba'zil,  }io/  ba'sil. 

Bastile — bas-tel'  or  bas'tel. 

because — be-kaz',  fio/  be-kiiz'. 

been — bin,  ben  in  England,  ne-.tr 

ben. 
Beethoven — ba'io-wn. 
believe — belev',  «(»/ bl5v. 
beloved  (adj.) — bg-luv'6d. 
beloved  (part.;  bc-liivd'. 
beneficent — Le-nef'I-sfnt,  no/  ben- 

c-lisaVni. 
beneath  —  Lg-tie///'  or  be-ngth' 
betroth — be  troth'. 
Bingen — bins^'gn,  tio/  bing'ggn. 
biography — Iji-Gg'ra-fJ-. 


Bismarck  -blz'niiirk. 

bitumen — bl-in'mgn,    no/    blt'yC- 

luiMI. 

bivouac — Mv'wak  or  biv'OO-ak. 
blithe     \Mlh.  not  bllth. 
boisterous  — boistCr-us,  no/  bois'- 

iri'is. 
bomb — bcini  or  biim. 
bombast     bnin'ljast  or  bfini'bast. 
Bonhomme  Richard — bo-nom'  iC- 

sliiii '. 

bouquet— buo-ka',  no/  bO-ka'. 
bow-legged  —  bo'legd,   no/   bo'leg- 

C(l. 

bowsprit — bo' sprit,  no/  bou'sprit. 
bravado — bra-va'dO. 
breeches — brich'Cz. 
bronchitis — brong-kl'ils. 
brooch — broch,  no/  brOOch. 
bulwark — boolwurk  or  -wark. 
buoy — bwoi  or  boi,  no/  boo'i. 
butcher — boOch'er,  no/  boO'cher. 


cabriolet — kab-rI-0-la'. 

Caesar  ea — ses-a-rg'a. 

canine — ka-nin'. 

canon  —  kan'ytin. 

carbine— kiir'blii. 

caricature — kar'l-ka-tOr. 

cartridge — kar'trij,  no/  kat'rij. 

catch — kach,  no/  kech. 

Caucasus  — ka'ktf-sus,  no/  ka-kas'- 

us. 
cello — chcl'lO. 
cement     (noun) — sem'ent    or    sg- 

nient'. 
cerement — sgr'm^nt. 
certain — ser'tin,  not  ser'ian. 
Chaldea — kal-dg'a. 
chap  (jaw.) — ch6p. 
Charlemagne — shar'l6-man         or 

cliar'- 
chary — char'^  or  cha'ry. 
chastisement — chas'iiz-m^tit,     not 

chas-ilz'mi'iit. 
Cheyenne — shl  6n'  or  she-fin'. 
Chicago — shi-ka'gO,  no/  shi-ka'gO. 
Chinese — chl-ngz'  or  -ngs'. 
circular — ser'ku-lar,    no/  ser'ker- 

lar. 


IVORDS   OFTEN  MISPRONOUNCED. 


347 


clapboard  — klab'bord    (ttof    klSp'- 

bord). 
cleanly  (adj.)  — klen'ly. 
cleanly  (adv.)  —  klgn'ly. 
clique^klek,  not  klik. 
coadjutor — ko  ad  ju'ler,     not    kO- 

ad'jQ-ter. 
cocoa — ko'ko. 
cognomen — kog-nO'men,  «<^'/kog'- 

iiO-men. 
coigne — koin. 

column — korriin,  not  koryum. 
combatant — k6m'bat-(iiu. 
comely  —  kum'ly,  tw/  kOm'ly. 
Commodus — kom'nio-dus. 
comrade  — kom'rad  or  kom'-rad. 
concave — kon'kav  or  kijng'kav. 
condolence — kon-do'lens,  not  kon'- 

do-lCns. 
congeries  —  kon-je'ri-ez. 
conjure  (juggle) — kun'jur. 
conjure  (implore) — kon-jure  . 
conscientious  — k  6  n-sh  i-e  n'shus, 

not  kon-si-en'shus. 
constitution — kon-sii-tQ'shun,  not 

kons-tu'shun. 
contumacy — kon'iu-ma-sy,      not 

kon-tu'ma-sy. 
conversant  — k6n'ver-s«nt. 
copse — kops,  ftot  kops. 
corps — kOr,  plural  korz. 
courier — kOo'ri-er  or  koor'i-er. 
courtesy  (civility)  kur'te-sy ;  (salu- 
tation) kurt'sy. 
courtier — kOrt'yer. 
covetous — kuv'et-us. 
coyote— kl'o-te  or  kl'ot. 
cupola — kQ'po-la,  ttot  ku'pa-lo. 
cursed  (adj.) — kurs'ed. 
curtain — kur'tin,  not  kiir'tan. 


dais — da'is. 

damage — dam'aj,  not  dam'ij. 

Daniel — dan'i-gl  or  dan'ygl. 

daub — dab,  not  d6b. 

daunt — dant. 

deaf— def  or  def. 

Decatur — dg-ka'tur. 

decease — deses'. 

deco  ous  — de-ko'rus  ^r  dgk'o  rus. 


decrepit — de-krgp'lt,  not  de  krgp'- 

Id. 
deficit — def i-sit,  not  dg-fis'it. 
demesne— dg-men'. 
denunciate — de-nun'shi-at,      not 

dg-nuii'sl-at. 
depot — de'po  or  da-po'  or  dep'O, 

not  da  po. 
depreciate — dg-prg'shiat,  not  dS- 

pre'siat. 
De  Quincey — de  kwin'si, not  kwin'- 

zi. 
Desaiz — dos-sa'. 
despicable — des'pik-il-b'l,  not  d6s- 

plk'a-b'l. 
desuetude  —des'wg-tud. 
devil— duv"l,  not  dgv'il. 
dififerent— dif'fer-,?nt,  not  dif'rSnt. 
diphtheria — dif-thg'ri-a  or  dip- 
diphthong — dif'thong  or  dip- 
direct — di-rect',  not  dirgct'. 
discern—  diz-zern'. 
disputant — dis'pQ-tant. 
doth — diith. 
draught — draft, 
drought— drout. 
drouth — drouth. 
duty — dQ'ty,  not  daQ'if. 


economic — g-kO-nom'ik  or  Sk-o- 

Edinburgh — 6d'in-bur-o,  not  ed'- 
in-burg. 

education— ed-ii-ka'shun,  not  ej- 
oo-ka'shun. 

e'er — ar  or  ar,  not  6r. 

eh — a  or  e. 

either — e't/ier  or  I't/icv. 

El  Caney — al  ka'ney. 

Elgin  (Illinois.)—  gl'jin  ;  (mar- 
bles)— gl'gln. 

embroglio— em-brol'yo. 

English — Iiig'glish,  not  eng'gllsh. 

enquiry — en-kvvir'y. 

envelope  — eii'vel-op  or  anSvl-op. 

epitome — g-plt'o  me. 

ere — ar  or  ar. 

Eretria — g-re  tri-a. 

erysipelas —eri  sip'g-las,  not  er, 
I  :-ip'e  las. 


4S 


//  ■(  )A7).s    ( )/  77  .V   ,\//.s7'A'(  ),V(  )l  'NCHD. 


eioteric — Cs-5-icr  Ik. 
Esquimaux — Cs'kI-(nO/. 
Esther — Os'iei.  not  fs'ihcr. 
every     Ov'cr-J-,  «<»/ Cv'rJ-. 
evil     c'vl,  tiof  C'vll 
exchequer  — Oks-diCk'er. 
extant — eks't.nu. 
eyrie— il'r5-  t>r  O't) . 


facade — fa-sfid'  or  lii-siid'. 

facile — f;\s'il. 

falcon — lu'k'ii. 

Faneuil  —  I'Ad'uI. 

faucet — la'sOi. 

fetich — fo'iish. 

finale— fc-iiii'la. 

financier — fin'-ilii-sCr'. 

flaccid — flak'sC-d. 

forensic — fO-rcn'slk,   no/  -uk. 

forehead — fOr'cd. 

fountain  —  foun  tin,  >ii>i  foiin'iiiii 

Frances — fran'sCz. 

Francis — fraii'^is. 

fungi — fun'jl. 


Gaeta — gii-a'  lii. 

gallant  (bravei — gal'laiit. 

gallant  (cliivalruus) — gal-laiu' 

gamin — gaiu'iti. 

gamut— gfun'fit. 

gather — galh'cr,  ;/<>/  getli'cr. 

gauge -gaj. 

gaunt — giiiit. 

Gaza — ga  za. 

Gellius — jOl'i-us. 

Gennesaret — gcii-ncs'u-rct. 

Genoa — jun'o-ii. 

genuine — jun'fi-iii. 

gherkin — ger'kin. 

gibbet — jib'bc!. 

gin  (machine) — jin. 

glacier — glii'sher  cr  glas'l-er. 

Golgotha — gol'go-tha. 

Grahame — gram. 

Greve  — giav. 

Grierson — grCr'si^n. 

Grosvenor — grdv'ner. 

Guido — gwg'dO. 


guild— gild. 

gules— gnl/ 

gums  — giimz,  ti<'/  gOOmz. 

Gutenburg — guO'tCii-borg. 

H 

harass— liar'./s. 

haunt — liiiiit. 

hautboy — lio'boi, 

Hawaii— liiiwrc;. 

Hayti— lia'tl. 

hearth  — liiirth. 

height—  lilt,  110/  huh. 

heinous — ha'nus. 

heraldic — liC-ral'dik. 

herb  — urb  i>r  herb. 

Herculean — hcr-ku'IC-an. 

Herve  Riel — cr-va  re-el'. 

hiccough  — hi  k'kiip. 

history — his'to-ry. 

homage — hom'aj. 

homoeopathy  —ho  iiiCop'a-thy. 

homogeneity — hO-mO-je-ng'it-J^. 

hoof — hoilf,  )i(}/  hoof. 

horizon — lio-rrzon. 

hovel — h6v'el. 

hover — hnv'er. 

humble — hum'b'l. 

humor — hu'mer  or  u'mer. 

hyperbole  — li!-[^e  I 'bo-lg. 

hypocrisy — hi-pok'ri-sy. 


Icarus— ik'a-rus. 

ideal— I-dC'<*I,  no/  i'dC-al. 

idyl— I'dil  or  Id'il. 

Ik  Marvel— Ik  miir-vgl,  noi  ik. 

Illinois — i!-lin-oi'  or  Il-IIn-oiz',  no/ 

el. 
illustrated— il-ius'ira-iC-d,   no/   iV- 

liis-tra-tcd. 
imbroglio— im-brcryo. 
impious— impl-us. 
impotence— im'pO-t^'ns. 
inaugurate- In-ag'Q-rat,    no/     In- 

a'giir-at. 
inchoate — in  kOat. 
incomparable — i  n-k  6  m'pa  ra-b'I, 

no/  In-kom-par'ab'l. 
indict — in  dii'. 


IVORDS   OFTEN  MISPRONOUNCED. 


349 


indisputable — in-dis'pri-td-b'I. 

indissoluble — in-dis'so-lil-b'l. 

infamous — in'fa-mus. 

Ingelow — in'je-Io. 

inquiry — in-kwi'ry,  no(  In'kwir-y. 

integral — in'te-gnil,  noi in-tg'gral. 

interested — iti'ier-ested,    not   in- 

ler-est'ed. 
interlocutor — In-ter-Iok'yii-ter. 
intrigue — In-treg'. 
inveigh — in-va'. 
inveigle — in-vg'g'l. 
inventory — iii'ven-tO-ry. 
Iowa  —  i'o-wa,  no/  I-o'wa. 
irrefragable — ir-ref  ra-ja-b'l. 
irregular — ir-rSg'u-ler,      )to(     ir- 

reg'er-ler. 
irrevocable — Ir-rev'd-kfi-b'l,       not 

ir-re-vo'ka-b'I. 
isolate — I'so-lat  or  is'o-Iat. 
Italian  —  i-tal'yrtn,  not  I-tal'y^n. 
Ivry — iv'ry  or  ev'r5^. 


Jacob — ja'kob,  not  ja'kiip. 
Jairus — ja  I'rus. 
January — jan'yu-a-ry^. 
jaunty — jan'ty. 
jocund— jok'tind. 
joust — just  or  joost. 
jugular — ju'gu-lar. 
Juliet — ju'li-et. 


Kansas — kan'sas  or  zas. 
kiln — kil,  not  kiln. 
Kossuth — kosh'oot . 


label— la'bel,  not  la'b'l. 
laboratory — lab'5-ra-to-ry,       not 

lab'ra-to-ry. 
laird — lard, 
lamentable — lam'en-ta-b'I,  not  la- 

munt'a-b'I. 
languor — lang'gwer. 
Larmes — larmz. 
larynx— lar'lnks. 
laugh — laf. 
launch — liinch. 


1  aunder — I  an'd  e  r. 

laundry — lan'dry. 

learned — lern'ed. 

leash — lesh. 

leave — lev,  not  lef. 

legate — iSg'at,  not  Je'gat. 

leisure— le'zhQr    or     lezh'ur,    not 

la'zhur. 
Lentulus — lent'yu-lus. 
lethargy — leth'ar-jy. 
lever — le'ver  or  lev'er. 
library — ll'bra-ry. 
licorice— lik'o-ris,  not  lik'o-rlsh. 
lief —lef,  71  o(  lev. 
literature — lit'er-a-tur. 
Lodi — lo'de. 
loggia— lod'ja. 
lower  (threaten) — lou'er. 
Lucknow — luk'now. 
Luzon — Ifi-zon'  or  -z6n. 
lyceum — li-sg'um,  not   ll'se-um. 


M 


Madrid— mad-rid'. 
Magdala — mag'da-la. 
Magdalen  (college) — mod'lln. 
manoeuvring — ma-nu  vring,       not 

ma-nu'ver-ing. 
manufactory  —  man-yu-fak'to-ry, 

not  man-yu-fak'chu-ry. 
Marseillaise — miir-sa-yaz'. 
Massachusetts— mas-a-chu'sets. 
Matanzas — ma-tan'zas. 
matron — ma' trim, 
mausers — mou'zers. 
mayoralty — ma'er-al-ty. 
measure — mezh'ur,  not  ma'zhur. 
Melas — ma'Iiis. 
memoir — mem'wor  or  mgm'. 
memory — mem'o-ry,  not  mem'ry. 
Messala — me-sa'la. 
Metz — mgts. 

Michael — mi'kel  or  ml  ka-el. 
microscopy — mi  kros'ko-py. 
Milan — mll'an  or  mil-an'. 
Millet — me-ya'. 
mineralogy — -min  er-al'o-jy,      not 

-ol'o-jy 
mischievous — mis'che-vus,        not 

mis-che  vus. 


J.->* 


iroRns  o/TFs  .\fisrh'o\of\'ci:n 


model  —nulil'C'l.  fii'f  inoil'l. 
molecule — nuM'C-kOl,  »of  mOl'knl. 
Moultrie-mOO'tiF  cr  ninoi'lrl, 
Monroe — miin  lu'. 
mountain — inmm'tlii,   not  mouri'- 

I'li  I'r  moiin'lXn. 
Mozart — mO'7:irl  <'r  mO'tsUrt. 
museum — nin-7C'um.    rxi'/    mn'zc- 

Ulll. 

mustache— mils- t;ish'. 

mystery — mis'tcr-^',  not  mls'ir5'. 

N 

naivete — na  Cv-ta'. 

naked — iia'kcd,  not  nC-k'Od. 

nape  — nSp,  not  nip. 

Napier — na'pC-er. 

nascent — nas'^-nt,  not  nS's^'nt. 

ne'er  —  nar  or  iiar,  ttot  nCr. 

neither — n57//er  or  ni't/ier. 

nephew  —  nOf'n  or  nev'u. 

neuralgia — nO-ral'ji-a,      not     nu- 

ral'ja  or  nfi-ral'i-j^'. 
new — nu,  not  nOO. 
New  Orleans — or'lg-anz,    not    6r- 

ICnz'. 

Nicaragua — ng'ca-ra-gwa. 

niche — nich. 

nominative — nOm'i-na-tIv,       not 

nuni'nd-tiv. 
nonchalently — n6n'sha-lant-lj^'. 
none—nun,  not  nOne. 
nothing — luith'ing. 


oaths — ui/iz,  not  Oths, 

obeisance — o-be's«ns  or  u-ba' 

oblique — ob-lgk'  or  -Ilk'. 

often — 6i"n,  «<?/ of  ten. 

only  — Gn'ly-. 

orchid — or'kid. 

ordeal — 6r'd5-al,  not  or'del. 

orgies — or'jiz. 

oust — oust,  not  Oust. 


pall  mall — pel  m£l'. 
palmistry — parmls-tr5'. 
Palos— pa'los  cr  pa-lOs'. 


pantomime  — pan'uTuiTni.         not 

inln. 
parachute     par'a-slinrst. 
parent    -parVni  or  parVnt. 
parliament  —  piir'Hin^'nt. 
participle — (iiir'H  sl-p'l,  not  pari'- 

sip'l. 
partridge — piir'trij,  not  pai'. 
Pheidippides  —  fl-dip'pl-dCs. 
Philadelphia— fll'a-derfl-a,        not 

I01-. 
phlegmatic  -flcs-mai'lk. 
Phocion  — (r/slii  on. 
phthisic — tiz  ik. 
phthisis — ilii't^is. 
physicist — flz'i-slst,  w^/-kist. 
pianist — pi  an'ist,  not  pg  an-ist. 
Pierre — p6-ar'. 
Pizzarro  -pi-zar'rO. 
plagiarism — pla'ja-riz'm,  not  plag- 
plague — plag,  no(  pleg- 
plenipotentiary — p  1  &  n-I-p5t  5  n'- 

shl-ary. 
poetaster  — po'et-as-ter. 
poignant — poin'ant. 
portentous — p6r-tent'us. 
prairie  — pra'ri. 
precedence — prC-sedVns. 
precedent  (noun) — prgs'g-d<rnt. 
preferable — pref'er-a-b'l. 
presbytery — prez'bli-er-y  or  pres  . 
prestige— pres'tij    or    (F.)     prgs- 

lezh'. 
pretence — prg-lgns',  not  prg'tens. 
pretty — prlt'if,  not  prgt'ij'. 
profile— pro'fil  or-isl. 
protestation — pr6t-6s-ta'shun.  not 

pro-. 
pseudo — sQ'do. 
pshaw — sha. 
psychic — si'kik. 
Ptolemy — tol'g-my. 
Puerto  Eico — pwgr'tO  rg'ko. 
publicist — pub'li-slst,  not  -kist. 
pygmean — pig-mg'an. 


quay — kg. 

querulous — kwcr'u-lus,  not  kw6r'- 

t-r-lus. 
Quincy  (.Adams) — kwin'zi. 


H^'ORDS    OFTEN   MISPRONOUNCED. 


351 


£ 

raillery — ral'ler-y-  or  ral-. 
Kaphael — laf'a-el  or  ra'fa-6l. 
rapine — rap'in,  twt  ra-pen'. 
rather — raih'er     or     rath'er,    not 

ruth'er. 
Ratisbon — rai'iz-bon. 
real — re'«l,  no(  ra'^l. 
realization  —  re-«l-iz-a'shun,     not 

ie-(zl-iz-a'shun, 
recess — re-ses'. 
referable — ref'er-a-b'l. 
refluent— reflti-cnt. 
refuse  (noun) — ref'us. 
regime — ra-zhem'. 
regular — reg'u-ler,  not  reg'er-ler. 
reparable — rep'a-ra-b'l. 
representative  —  rep-re-zent'a-tiv, 

7ii>t  rep-er-zent'a-tiv. 
reputation  —  rep'u-la'shun,       not 

rep-er-. 
research — re-serch'. 

resource — ^re-sors'. 

reveille  —  re-val'ya.  "  /»  t  k  e 
United  Stales  service  commonly 
rev'a-le'." — Webster. 

revocable — rev'o-ka-b'l. 

ridiculous — ri-dik'u-lus,  not  rl-dik' 
er-. 

Rigel — rl'jel  or  re'jel. 

rinse — rins,  not  rens. 

Eio  Grande — ri'o  grand  or  re'o 
griin'da. 

rise  (noun) — ris  or  riz. 

robust — ro-bust'. 

Rodriguez — ro-dre'geth. 

roof — roof,  not  roof. 

room — room,  not  room. 

root — root,  tiot  root. 

roseate — ro'zg-at. 

route — root  or  rout. 

routed — rout'ed. 

routine — roo-ten'. 


S 

Saarbriick — sar'bruck. 
sachem — sa'chirm. 
Sadowa — sado'wa. 
Sagasta — sa-gas'tii. 
Samoa — sa-mo'ii. 


St.  Louis  — sant  loo'Is  or  loo'i. 
San  Juan — san  hoo-an'. 
sanguine — sang'gwin. 
Santiago  —  san-te-a'go. 
satin — sat'in,  iiot  sat"n. 
savage — sav'aj,  not  sav'ij. 
schismatic — siz-mat'ik. 
Schurz — shoorts. 
secretary  —  se  k'r e-ta-r  J^,      not 

sek'er-. 
Sedan — se-dan'. 
sergeant — sar'jVnt  or  ser-. 
sesame — ses'a-me. 
Sesostris — se-s6stris. 
sesterce — ses'ters. 
several — sev'er-al,  not  sev'raL 
sheik — shek. 
shone — shon  or  shon. 
shriek — shrek,  not  screk. 
shrill — shril,  not  scril. 
since — sins,  not  s6ns. 
sloth— sloth  or  sloth. 
slough  (cast-off  skin) — sluf. 
slough  (pit)— slou. 
Solferino — s61-fe-re'no. 
spoon — spoon,  not  spoon, 
squalor  —  skwa'lor  or  skwol'er. 
St.  Domingo — do-ming'go. 
stalwart — stol'wert    or  stol'wert, 

not  stal-. 
steady — sted'y,  not  stid'y. 
stint — stint,  not  stent, 
strategic— stra-te'jik  or  -tej'ik. 
succinct — suk-singkt',  twt  sus-. 
superfluous — su-per'flu-iis,  not  su- 
per-flu'us. 


tabernacle  —  tab'er-na-k'l,        not 

tab'na-k'l. 
taunt — tant. 

tedious  — te'di-us  or  ted'yus. 
tenable — t6n'a-b'l. 
tenet — tfin'et. 
tepid — lep'id. 

therefore — thar'for  or  ther'fSr. 
Thoreau — tho'ro  or  th5-ro'. 
tiny — tl'ny. 

tortoise— lor'tis  or  -tfis. 
TouBsaint   L'Ouverture  —  too-san* 

loo-ver-lui'. 


352 


// '( )AV  ).s    ( )/  I  UN   MIsrK(  ),V(  )l  JNCED. 


toward-    uTcrd. 

Trafalgar— traf-ai-Riir'. 

tranquil  —  li;lii_i;'k\vil. 

Transvaal — trans-viir. 

travail  —  trav'ill. 

tremor — tre'niOr  or  trcin'Oi. 

troth  —  troth. 

trough — trOf,  not  trOth. 

turbine — tfir'bln. 

Turin  — tn'rin. 

turquoise— iur-k(iiz'c>/-  -kgz'. 

XT 

ugh — 66. 

umbrella  —  um-brSl'la,    not    um- 

bril'lii. 
unguent — ung  gwgnt. 
usage — uz'aj,  not  us'aj. 
usurpation — u-zur-pa'shun. 
Utah  — Q'tii  or  u'ta. 


vagary — va-ga'ry.  not  va'ga-r};-. 

valet — val'et  or  val'a. 

valuable— val'u-a-b'l,  not  val'u-b'l. 

vanquish — van  g'k  wish. 

Varinius — va-rin'i-iis. 

vase— vas  or  viiz. 

vaudeville — vod'vil. 

vaunt — vant  or  vant. 

vehement — ve'he-m^nt. 

Vendee — von -da'. 

Versailles— ver-salz'. 

vicar — vik'er. 

vignette — vin-yfit'  or  vin'ygt. 


Vinicius — vl-nlsh'l-us. 
Villages — vC-l6-g6sh'. 
viscount — vl'kount. 
visor — viz'er,  not  vl'zcr. 
Volturnus— v6l-tur'nus. 


W 

wan — won,  not  wan. 
wary — wa'rv. 


Waterloo — wa-ior-loO'. 

Wellesley — welz'iy. 

Weyler — wa'Ier. 

wharf — hwiirf,  7iot  warf. 

whene'er — hwcn-ar'    or    -ar,     not 

hwen-gr'. 
which — hwlch,  not  wich. 
whole— hoi. 
whooping — hoop  ing,    tiot    h66p'- 

ing. 
wont  (custom) — wuni, 
won't — wont. 
Worcester — woos'ter. 
wound — vvoond  or  wound, 
wreaths — rethz,  not  rgths. 


youths — vQths. 


Zaccheus — zak-g'us. 

zoology — zo-Ol'o-jy,    not  zoo-6l  'o- 

Zuyder  Zee — zi'der  ze. 


INDEX   OF  AUTHORS 


Anonymous,  73,  83,  149,  292,  296 

Baker,  Edward  Dickinson,  332 
Beecher.  Henry  Ward,  112,  116 
Beveruk;e,     Albert    Jeremiah, 

324 
Bl.vine,    James    Gillespie,    14.2, 

302 
Boyesen,  Hjalmar  IIjorth,  92 
Bright,  John,  205 
Browning,  Elizabeth  Barrett, 

189,  208 
Browning,  Robert,  118,  309 
Burritt,  Elihu,  256 

Carleton.  Will,  172,  280 
Chamberlain,     Joshua      Law- 
rence, 39 
Chapin,     Edwin    Hubbell,    75, 

239 
Chatham.  Lord,  91 
Child,  Lydia  Maria,  120 
Clay',  Henry,  78 
CoppEE,  Francois,  153 
Coudert,  P'redekic  Rene,  278 
Cousins,  Robert  G.,  223 
Curtis,  George  William,  136 

Davis,    Richard    Harding.    17 

228 
Depew,     Chauncey    Mitchell. 

166 


Dickinson.     Anna     Elizabeth, 

220 
Dkomgoole,  Will  Allen.  31 

Eliot,  Charles  William,  263 

Erye,    William   Pierce,    5,    86, 
145,  294 

GouGii,     John     Bartholomew, 

179 
Grady',    Henry  Woodfen,    248, 

289,  313 
Grant,  Robert,  48 
Grattan,  Henry,  254 

Hale,  Edward  Everett,  57 
Hay,  John,  43,  322 
HiLLis,  Newell  Dwight,  26 
Hoar,  George  Frisbie,  80,   88, 

133,  185 
Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  225 
Howells.  William  Dean,  199 
Hugo,  Victor  Marie,  69 
Hyde,  William  DeWitt,  98 

Ingersoll,  Robert  Green,  326, 
335.  340 

Johnson,  Henry  U.,  5 


Kellogg,  Elijah.  299 
King,  Charles,  r 


:35? 


o54 


INDEX   or  .-ILr/HOKS 


Lincoln,  Abraham,  196 
LiiTARU,  Gkorcie,  1S2,  275 

l.lTTLKKIELl),  CllAKLKS  E. ,   I  I4 

LoUGE,  Henry  Cabot,  11,30,  51, 

170,  197,  24O 
Long,  John  Davis,  59,   124,  211, 

273 

Longfellow,      IIknkv      Wads- 
worth,  62 

Lowell,  Robert  Traill  Spence, 

243 
Lytton,  Lord,  342 

McClike,   Alexander     Kelly, 

177 
McDowell,  James,  214 
McKiNLEY,  William,  20,  260, 306 
Meai;iier,  Thomas  Francis,  304 
Moore,  Maude,  7 

Nason,  Emma  Huntington,  262 

Page,  Thomas  Nelson,  108 
Parker,  Theodore,  158 
Parkhurst,    Charles     Henry, 

146 
Phillips,  Wendell,  307 
Porter,  Horace,  206,  241 

Read,  Thomas  Buchanan,  163 
Reade,  Charles,  38 


Reed,    Thomas   ISracketi-,   152, 

194 
Riley,   James    Wihtcom)!,     127, 

234 
Russell,  William  Eustis,  232 

Sargeni,  Epes,  156 
SciiuRZ,  Carl,  71 
SiHLEY,  Joseph  C,  336 

SlENKlEWICZ,    HkNRYK,   316 

Sill,  Edward  Rowland,  103 
Smith,  William  Hawley,  331 
Stockton,  Robert  Field,  265 
Storrs,  Richard  Salter,  286 

Taylor,  Benjamin  F'ranklin,  23 
Thompson,  Maurice,  267 
Thurston,  John  Mellen,  28,  66, 

105,  130,  187 
Trowbridge,   John    Townsend, 

138 

Van  Dyke,  Henry,  53,  217 

Wallace,  Lew,  251 
W^ashington,     Booker    Talia- 
ferro, 122,  160,  271 
Watterson,  Henry,  55,  06,  loi 
Webster,  Daniel,  106 
Weld,  Theodore  Dwigiit,  328 
WHiTiMAN,  Walt,  181 
WoLCOTT,  Edward  Oliver,  15 


INDEX   OF  TITLES 

PACK 

Against  Expansion Ht-nry  U.  Johnson 45 

Against  Flogging  in  the  Navv.  .  .Robert  Field  Stockton 265 

Against  Imperialism George  Frisbie  Hoar 185 

Against  the  Fugitive-Slave  Law. Theodore  Parker 158 

Against  the  Spoils  System Henry  van  Dyke 53 

Agencies  in  Our  National  Prog- 
ress  Alexander  Kelly  McClure. ...    177 

American  Battle-Flags Carl  Schurz 71 

America's  Mission Albert  Jeremiah  Beveridge.. . .   324 

Appeal  to  the  People,  An John  Bright 205 

At  the  Tomb  of  Napoleon   Robert  Green  Ingersoll .....  335 

Assault  on  Fort  Wagner ,  .Anna  Elizabeth  Dickinson.. . .   220 

Banty  Tim John  Hay 43 

Bell-Ringer  of  '76,  The Anonymous 73 

Benediction,  The Fran9ois  Coppee 153 

Bible,  The Newell  Dwight  Hiliis 26 

Blue  and  the  Gray.  The Henry  Cabot  Lodge 246 

Boat-Race,  The Robert  Grant 48 

Brier-Rose Hjalmar  Hjorth  Boyesen 92 

Chariot-Race.  The Lew  Wallace 251 

Charles  Sumner George  William  Curtis 136 

Citizen's  Responsibility,  A .William  McKinley 306 

City  of  New  York,  The Frederic  Rene  Coudert 278 

Claudius  and  Cynthia .Maurice  Thompson 267 

Columbian  Oration Chauncey  Mitchell  Depew. . ..  166 

Commonwealth      of      Massachu- 
setts, The William  Eustis  Russell 232 

Cuba William  Pierce  Frye 145 

Dangerous  Legislation James  McDowell 214 

Daniel  Webster George  Frisbie  Hoar 88 

Death  Bripge  of  the  Tay,  The..  .Will  Carleton 172 

355 


356  INDEX   OF    TlTl.rS 

PAr.K 

l)EAiu  ov  Charles  thk  Ninth.  .  .  ..Maiulc  Moore 7 

Death  of  Garkiei.d,  The James  Gillespie  Blaine 142 

Death  ok  Rodrigiez Kichani  1  laniing  Davis 228 

Death  Penalty,  The Nictnr  Marie  liuj:;o 60 

Dedication  ok  Gettysiu  rc.  Ceme- 
tery. The Ahraham  Lincoln 196 

Eyangeline,  From Ilcmy  \Vad^\vol•tll  Longfellow     62 

Fight  Okk  Santiago Henry  Cabot  Lodge 36 

First  Settler's  Story Will  Carleton 2S0 

F'ool's  Prayer,  The Edward  Rowland  Sill 103 

Forefathers'  Day.  ., John  Davis  Long 211 

For  Expansion Joseph  C.  Sibky 336 

Grant William  McKinley 260 

Great  Britain  and  America Edwin  Oliver  Wolcott 15 

Greek  Revolution,  The Henry  Clay 78 

Heart  ok  Old  Hickory,  Thk Will  Allen  Dromgoole   31 

Herve  Riel Robert  Bn.wning 189 

Horace  Greei.ky Henry  Ward  Beeclier 116 

Incident  of  the  French  Camp.  .  .  .  Robert  Browning 118 

Incident    in  the   Like    ok  Wen- 
dell Phillips,  An Theodore  D.  Weld 32S 

Jim  Bludso John  Hay 322 

Knee-Dekp  in  June James  Whitcomb  Riley 127 

Lark,  The Charles  Reade 38 

Last  of  the  Roman  Tribunes,  'J'HE.Lord  Lytton 342 

Let  Us  Have  Peace Henry  Watterson 96 

Liberty  and  Union Daniel  Webster 106 

Lincoln  :  A  Man  Called  ok  God.  .John  Mellen  Thurston 130 

Maiden  Martyr,  The Anonymous 83 

^L\iNE  at  Gettysburg Joshua  Lawrence  Chamberlain  39 

Man    Who    Wears    the    Button, 

The ,,.,,,. John  Mellen  Thurston 105 

Man  Without  a  Country,  The..  .  .Edward  Everett  Hale 57 

Mass.vchusptts Plenry  Cabot  Lodge 170 

Meagher's  Dekense Thomas  Francis  Meagher. , . .  304 

3Iess.>c;b  from  the  Sol'TH,  A I?(«>ker  Tii].iaferro  VVashingtoji  160 


INDEX  OF   TITLES  357 

PAGE 

Mission  of  the  Public  School, The.  William  DeWitt  Hyde 98 

Monroe  Doctrine,  The John  Mellen  Thurston 66 

Mother  and  Poet Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  .  .  208 

iNfR.  Travers's  First  Hunt Richard  Harding  Davis 17 

New  Americanism Henry  Watterson 55 

New  England  Character James  Gillespie  Blaine 302 

New  England  Civilization William  Pierce  Frye 5 

New  South,  The Henry  Woodfen  Grady 313 

Not  Guilty Anonymous 296 

O  Captain  !  my  Captain  ! Walt  Whitman 18 1 

One  Niche  the  Highest Elihu  Burritt 256 

On  Receiving  the   Master's    De- 
gree from  Harvard Booker  Taliaferro  Washington  271 

On  the  Other  Train Anonymous 149 

Opportunity  to  Labor,  The Thomas  Brackett  Reed ic2 

Other  Fellow,  The]     William  Hawley  Smith   ....  33  r 

Our  Duty  to  the  Philippines William  McKinley 20 

Our  National  Flag Henry  Ward  Beecher 112 

Our  Pledge  to  Puerto  Rico Charles  E.  Littlefield. 114 

Our  Rich  Heritage John  Mellen  Thurston 187 

Oxford  County John  Davis  Long 59 

Path  of  Duty,  The George  Frisbie  Hoar 80 

Pheidippides Robert  Browning 309 

Piety  and  Civic  Virtue Charles  Henry  Parkhurst.  . .  .    146 

Pilot's  Story,  The William  Dean  Howells 199 

Plea  for  Cuba,  A John  Mellen  Thurston 28 

Plumed  Knight,  The Robert  Green  IngersoU 340 

Power  of  Habit,  The John  Bartholomew  Gough ....    179 

Protection  of  Americans  in  Ar- 
menia   William  Pierce  Frye 294 

Puritan  Sabbath,  The Henry  van  Dyke. . , 217 

Puritan  Spirit,  The  Richard  Salter  Storrs 286 

Ray's  Ride Charles  King i 

Relief  of  Lucknow Robert  Traill  Spence  Lowell. .   243 

Reply  to  Mr.  Corry Henry  Grattan 254 

Rescue  of  Lygia,  The Henryk  Sienkiewicz 316 

Reverence  for  the  Flag Horace  Porter 241 

Revolutionary  Rising,  The Thomas  Buchanan  Read 163 

Rider  of  thp  Black  Horse,  Thk.  .George  Lippard, ,,,,,,.,,,,  lit 


.vSS  /A7)/;-.V    or    11  ILLS 


Siiiooi.s    AND     Colleges    ok    Oi:r 

Coi'NTRY,  The ("li;\rks  William  Eliot 263 

Seckei"  of  Lincoln's  rowEK,  'Ihe.. Henry  \\ attLrson loi 

SltlMllCANCE  OF  THE  Si'ANISlI  WaK, 

The John  Davis  l.ong 124 

Soldier  Hoy,  The John  Davis  Loni^' 273 

SoLDU'R  of  the  Empire,  A Thonuis  Nelson  I'age loS 

Soldier's  Faith,  The Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 225 

Solution  of  the  Southern  Prou- 

l.EM,  The liooker  Taliaflrro  Washington    122 

South  and  Her  Problkms,  Thk.  . .  Henry  Woodfen  (jrady 2S9 

Southern  Negro,  The Henry  Woodfen  Grady 248 

Spartacus  to  the  Gladiators Elijah  Kellogg 299 

Spartacus  to  the  Roman  Envoys. Epes  Sargent 156 

Spate  of  Maine,  The William  Pierce  Frye 80 

Storming  of  Mission  Ridge,  The.. Benjamin  Franklin  Taylor. .  .  23 
Supposed  Speech  of  James  Otis  . .  .Lydia  Maria  Child 120 

To  THE  Grand  Army  of  the  Re- 
public   Thomas  Brackett  Reed 194 

ToussAiNT  L'OuvERTURE Wendell  Phillips 307 

To  Young  Men  of  New  York Edward  Dickinson  Baker 332 

Traditions     of      Massachusetts, 

The Henry  Cabot  Lodge 12 

Traveler's  Story,  The James  Whitcomb  Riley 234 

Tribute  to  Gen.  Sherm.\n,  A Horace  Poner 206 

Tribute    to    the     Men    of     the 

M.vine,  a Robert  G.  Cousins 223 

Triumph  of  Peace,  The Edwin  Hubbell  Chapin 75 

True  Americanism Henry  Cabot  Lodge 197 

True  Power  of  a  Nation,  The Edwin  Hubbell  Chapin 239 

True  War  Spirit,  The George  Frisbie  Hoar 133 

Unknown  Speaker,  The George  Lippard 275 

Unter  den  Linden Emma  Huntington  Nason. . . .   262 

Vagabonds,  The John  Townsend  Trowbridge. .    138 

Victor  of  Marengo,  The Anonymous 292 

Vision  of  War,  A Robert  Green  Ingersoll 326 

War  with  America,  The Lord  Clialham 91 

What  the  Flag  Means Henry  Cabot  l^jdge 51 


r>  I'll  111  |jui.i 


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1931 

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L  009   567  702 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  232  638    5 


UNIVKKSJTY  ot  CALIFORNIA 

AT 

LOS  ANGELES 

LIBRARY 


